


Just One Of Those Days

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-31
Updated: 2006-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: It's one of those days when things for our Starfleet Officers seem to go wrong...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

Â§ 1 Â§

Oh-seven-hundred. Captain Jonathan Archer loved a good breakfast. As he watched his Second in Command, Subcommander Tâ€™Pol, unhurriedly bring a spoonful of plomek broth, the traditional Vulcan morning meal, to her lips, the Captain felt like rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Breakfast meant the beginning of a new day, with all that it implied for a ship of explorers: new adventures, new worlds to discover, perhaps even new first encounters. Archerâ€™s enthusiasm was briefly dampened as he remembered a particular adventure following a particular breakfast, with his Armoury Officer, when they had wandered into a Romulan minefield. Well, he supposed some of their adventures were bound to hold a few unwelcome surprises - it was all part of the deal. 

â€œYour scrambled eggs, Sir.â€

â€œThank you, Manetti.â€ Archer unfolded his napkin and spread it over his legs.

â€œAnything interesting on long-range sensors?â€ he asked Tâ€™Pol, just to make a little conversation â€“ he had never liked to eat in silence, which, as opposed to him, was what his Vulcan officer definitely preferred. 

Tâ€™Polâ€™s spoon stopped in mid-air but not a drop of broth fell from it. One of her eyebrows shot up briefly. â€œAs a matter of fact, yes. I was waiting for the senior staff meeting to make my report, but since you are asking... There is an M-class planet on our direct course, a few hours from our current position. Scanners have detected platinum ore.â€

â€œAh!â€ Archer beamed, shaking the salt-cellar energetically over his eggs and wondering how it was possible that they had invented warp drive but not salt that actually came out of a shakerâ€™s holes. â€œThat will make our Chief Engineer happy.â€ 

â€œIndeed.â€

â€œTripâ€™s been asking me to find him some platinum.â€ 

â€œI believe the Commander intends to stock up on it as an exchange good, in case he needs to purchase any spare parts from alien species,â€ Tâ€™Pol supplied. â€œPlatinum is highly sought after in this part of the quadrant.â€ 

â€œSo I heard,â€ Archer commented, scowling at the salt which had suddenly decided to collaborate, pouring out in excessive quantity. Shrugging it off, he took an enthusiastic forkful of eggs and shoved it into his mouth. 

â€œHmph.â€ He froze with his mouth full. 

â€œCaptain?â€ Head tilted gently to one side, Tâ€™Pol looked at him while a slight frown creased her brow.

From behind a hand Archer mumbled an indistinct apology. Then, pushing his chair back, he got up and hurried out of the messhall.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œOpen wider, Captain, if you please,â€ Phlox instructed, without bothering to hide his amusement. In over forty years of career he couldnâ€™t remember ever treating anybody who had injured himself eating breakfast. â€œScrambled eggs, is that correct?â€ 

â€œHmm...â€ 

It had taken a good deal of deductive reasoning to figure out what the problem could be with the moaning and gesticulating man who had bolted into sickbay a couple of minutes before, but not to understand what his morning meal had consisted of.

Archerâ€™s expression was a peculiar mix of embarrassment and irritation, and Phlox had to remind himself that he was supposed to inspect the manâ€™s mouth and not stare at his face. He focused back on his job, dabbing away a bit of blood and saliva. â€œAh-ha, there! I see the culprit. Itâ€™s a sizeable piece of eggshell that has become wedged in your palate. It appears to have cut your tongue too.â€

â€œHmm!â€

That second â€˜hmmâ€™ was low and rumbling. Uh-oh, Phlox thought.

â€œDonâ€™t move, Captain...â€ The Doctor reached for his tweezers and tilted the head of his patient, who was lying on a biobed, a little more his way. â€œAnd... here it is,â€ he said with open satisfaction, turning the offending and sharp piece of shell around in his gloved hand. â€œResequenced eggs seem to come with harder eggshells,â€ he commented blithely.

Archer closed his mouth, his brow furrowed in irritation. â€œChef is goinâ€™ to hear from me,â€ he grumbled around his sore oral cavity. â€œWe have enough surprises without him addinâ€™ any to the food.â€

â€œNow, now, Captain,â€ Phlox said in a conciliatory tone, handing him a disinfectant mouth wash. â€œEveryone can make a little mistake.â€

Archer sat up and grabbed the glass, wincing. As he rinsed out his mouth, the Doctor watched the lines on his face gradually smooth out. He had expected nothing less of the good-natured Captain of the starship Enterprise. In the fifteen odd months he had spent with this crew, he had studied human nature and discovered it differed greatly from one individual to the next. This particular individual, he had learnt, was not one to hold grudges for very long.

Sighing, Archer hopped off the biobed. â€œJust thinhh what might happen if Chef left a piece of ehhshell in a dish for some aliens we are meetinâ€™ for the first time,â€ he mumbled, finding it painful to pronounce a few consonants. â€œWe might end up mahhing enemies!â€

â€œCaptain,â€ Phlox said with a low chuckle. â€œThe likelihood of something like that happening is not very great at all.â€ Glancing at the clock, he saw that he was running late feeding his menagerie, so he pulled his face into one of those ear-to-ear grins which, he had come to realise, were an almost infallible human repellent. Indeed...

â€œMaybe Iâ€™ll see if I hhan still hhet something done before the eight oâ€™hhlock senior staff meetinâ€™,â€ Archer mumbled, with a guarded look. â€œIâ€™ll be seeinâ€™ you, Dohh.â€

â€œNot too soon, I hope, Captain.â€ Phlox saw the green eyes turn even more wary, so he added gleefully, â€œIn my capacity of physician, that is.â€

â€œOf hhourse.â€ Archerâ€™s mouth turned up into a forced smile. He triggered the door open and was gone. Phlox chuckled to himself and proceeded to feed his hungry bunch.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œOf course I left eggs in the Captainâ€™s scrambled eggs.â€ Chef huffed, regarding the crewman before him as if he were an idiot. â€œWhat would you suggest I use to...â€

â€œEggshell, you left a piece of egg shell in the Captainâ€™s scrambled eggs!â€ Crewman Manetti cut in with emphasis, racking his brain for the Italian word; he was sure when he was a kid heâ€™d heard it from his grandma, when she had prepared him uovo frullato. If only he had put a bit more effort into learning the language... 

Chefâ€™s eyes narrowed in concentration. â€œEgg shell? Shell? You donâ€™t mean guscio, do you?â€ 

Manetti snapped his fingers. â€œThatâ€™s it, guscio! You left a big piece of guscio in the Captainâ€™s scrambled eggs, and apparently he had to resort to Doctor Phloxâ€™s care.â€

â€œDottor Floss!â€ Chef pressed both hands to his cheeks, pushing his mouth into a narrow round shape which made him look like some kind of tropical fish. 

Manetti shook his head at Chefâ€™s mangled version of the Doctorâ€™s name. â€œPhlox, the nameâ€™s Phlox,â€ he said with a chuckle. Enterpriseâ€™s physician was not exactly thread-like. 

â€œWhat happened then?â€ Chef asked nervously, ignoring the lesson in pronunciation. 

â€œI donâ€™t know. If anyone does, that will be Commander Tucker. Ask him. In any case, he wonâ€™t refuse to put in a good word for you.â€ Manetti winked. â€œYou know, heâ€™s friends with the Captain.â€

â€œAh, yes, Commander Tucker.â€ Chef glanced at the clock. â€œHe always has breakfast at seven twenty. Five minutes! Just enough time to warm up a nice big slice of pecan pie. The man loves pecan pie.â€ 

Manetti rolled his eyes. â€œEven Porthos must know the Commander likes pecan pie.â€ He watched the flustered man-in-white hurry to a refrigerated storage compartment. He opened one of its higher doors and got the pie out; he turned and he bent down, got a saucer from a lower shelf, turned again and sprang back up.

â€œOuch! Dannazioneâ€¦â€ 

Chef glared at the door he had left open and erupted in a string of colourful expressions Manetti was pretty sure his grandma had never used. At least not while preparing him uovo frullato. Someone in the family obviously had, though, for he had no trouble recognising them; and for some reason they had stuck in his memory better than the parts of an egg. 

â€œWant to end up in sickbay too?â€ Manetti asked the rotund Giuseppe, prying Chefâ€™s hand away from his head and inspecting the fast-forming bump. 

Chef sighed.

â€œI donâ€™t think youâ€™ll need to visit Dottor Floss,â€ Manetti reassured him. â€œJust put some ice on it and youâ€™ll be fine.â€

Â§Â§Â§

â€œAw, Malcolm, do we have to discuss that now? I mean â€“ canâ€™t a man have breakfast in peace?â€

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed looked briefly away before returning narrowed eyes to Commander Charles Tucker III. â€œI honestly fail to see how your agreeing to spend a very reasonable amount of your working hours in the Armoury to upgrade a few tactical systems, which are â€“ may I remind you â€“ of vital importance to our very survival, should prevent you from having breakfast in peace,â€ he said in his sharp British accent.

Trip rolled his eyes. â€œBecause. We arenâ€™t even on duty yet. We oughtta talk about --- I donâ€™t know, yesterdayâ€™s movie, or how best to convince the Captâ€™n that we need some shore leave... or... the weather. Anything but your damn Armoury!â€ He glanced at Reed, who was staring at him with his facial muscles hardened in a determined expression, and couldnâ€™t refrain from chuckling. â€œAh, why do I even try!â€ he exclaimed, throwing a helpless hand up in the air. â€œYou probably look at your waffles and see a targeting grid.â€ 

â€œAll you need to do is say a simple â€˜yesâ€™,â€ Reed replied levelly, ignoring Tuckerâ€™s gibe. â€œAnd youâ€™ll be able to give your waffles your undivided attention.â€

â€œBut I donâ€™t want to give my waffles my undivided attention,â€ Trip countered with a huff. â€œI wanna have breakfast and a little friendly conversation. Sheesh! Is that so difficult to understand?â€

â€œWell, then I suggest you have breakfast with the Captain,â€ Reed said peevishly. â€œThe man actually welcomes idle chat between a sip of coffee and a bite of toasted bread.â€

Trip was going to respond with a venomous retort when his eye was caught by an uncommon sight: Chef was coming his way with a big smile plastered on his face and a plate carried high on the palm of one hand, like some kind of offering to the gods.

â€œCommander,â€ Chef called from a distance when he saw that Trip had noticed him, â€œI have something for you.â€ 

He wound his way to their table and, with a flamboyant move, made the plate circle once and land right in front of Trip. On it was a huge and fragrantly warm slice of pecan pie. 

â€œWell, look at that,â€ Trip said, a little taken aback by the unexpected attention and glad that the messhall was still rather empty. In a year and a half of their mission this was the first time Giuseppe had done something of the kind. He smiled back at the man, and saw, out of the corner of his eye, Reedâ€™s brow crease in a suspicious frown. 

â€œWhatâ€™s the occasion - this isnâ€™t my birthday, is it?â€ Trip asked genuinely puzzled, turning to his friend.

â€œNo,â€ Malcolm answered, as he narrowed his eyes in thought. â€œTherefore either Chef wants to have a fling with you, or to ask you a favour.â€ 

â€œA fling... what does this mean?â€ Chef asked, eyeing Reed distrustfully. 

â€œIt means that...â€

â€œAh, nothinâ€™ important, Chef,â€ Trip cut in. He gave Malcolmâ€™s shin a light kick under the table, which only earned him an amused grin.

Chef shuffled his feet. â€œHave you seen Captain Archer this morning, Commander?â€ he enquired in what he probably wanted to be a casual tone, but which failed miserably.

â€œHere we go,â€ Reed muttered under his breath.

Trip landed him another kick â€“ a harder one â€“ and was rewarded with a wince. He put on one of his winning smiles for the uneasy man before him. â€œThe Captâ€™n? Why, no, not yet,â€ he replied, wondering where this was going.

â€œOh,â€ Chef said, wringing his hands. â€œI see.â€ Suddenly his face crumpled. â€œI need your help, Commander,â€ he murmured in a distressed voice.

â€œTold you,â€ Reed sing-sang softly to the side of his raised cup. He lifted his eyebrows innocently and sipped on his tea, looking as if he had forgotten all about the Armoury upgrades and was having a great time.

Trip noticed Malcolm had wound his legs tightly around the legs of his chair. â€œSure thing, Chef. What can I do for ya?â€ he answered mellifluously. â€œNeed me to come fix somethinâ€™ in the galley? Just say the word.â€ With his peripheral vision he caught the Armoury Officerâ€™s face as it darkened. This approach was more effective than a kick. 

Chefâ€™s expression, on the other hand, was still rather concerned.

â€œNo, no. Itâ€™s not that,â€ he rushed to say. â€œYou see, I left a piece of eggshell in the Captainâ€™s scrambled eggs â€“ I donâ€™t know how that could have happened â€“ and he got hurt and had to see Dottor Floss â€“ Manetti told me that â€“ and I suppose he must be mad at me, the Captain, that is, Commander, and Iâ€™d like you to, you know, check just how much mad he is, and tell him that Iâ€™m terribly sorry, for I would do so myself but Iâ€™m not sure he would like to see me right now, besides the fact that, depending on his mood, I donâ€™t know if I want to see him, and knowing that you are...â€ 

â€œWoah! Wow. Breathe, man!â€ Trip shook his head as if to clear it, laughing heartily. Malcolmâ€™s eyes twinkled, but the man was keeping a perfectly straight face. Damn him, how did he manage such self-control? The thought of Jon running to Phlox because he had cut himself on scrambled eggs... Now he wished he had eaten breakfast with the Captain this morning, to have seen Tâ€™Polâ€™s reaction to that. Certainly better than sitting with a paranoid Armoury Officer.

â€œDonâ€™t worry, Chef. Iâ€™m sure the Captâ€™n understands that it was just a mistake,â€ Trip offered, biting his lip to sober up. â€œBut if necessary Iâ€™ll be glad to put in a good word for you.â€

â€œAh, I knew I could count on you, Commander,â€ Chef said, sighing in relief and visibly relaxing. 

â€œIs that why you brought him pecan pie?â€ Reed asked deadpan, tilting his head and indicating Tripâ€™s plate with his mug.

Chef frowned. â€œLieutenant, are you suggesting I brought Commander Tucker pecan pie toâ€¦ buy his help?â€

â€œThat is exactly what I am suggesting,â€ Reed replied, jerking his head sideways.

Chef pulled a face. â€œWhat? Are you jealous, Signor Reed?â€

â€œMaybe heâ€™d like ya to have a fling with him,â€ Trip mumbled around a bite of pie.

â€œHave a...â€ Chef smirked. â€œIâ€™ll have to ask Hoshi about that,â€ he murmured to himself.

Malcolm returned, with interest, one of the kicks he had received before. â€œYou canâ€™t deny that you make pecan pie much more often than pineapple cake. You definitely favour the Commander, Giuseppe.â€ He sounded dead serious.

Chef looked at him in frozen incredulity for one long moment. â€œAll right, all right, Iâ€™ll make you your pineapple cake,â€ he sighed eventually, shaking his head. He picked up Tripâ€™s empty plate and left, muttering something about little children.

Trip shot Malcolm a disbelieving look.

â€œWhat?â€ Reed said defensively. â€œItâ€™s the plain truth. Chef churns out so much pecan pie that one would think the warp drive runs on it.â€

â€œActually, it does,â€ Trip said, leaning back in his chair and placing a satisfied hand on his stomach. He smiled smugly. 

Malcolm smirked in response, then sprang up. â€œSo, Commander: are you going to give me a few hours of your precious time?â€

â€œMalcolm, for Peteâ€™s sake!â€

Malcolm grinned wickedly, tapping a finger on his watch. â€œWell, Trip, time to get down to business: our shift started several seconds ago.â€ 

Â§ 2 Â§

â€œThe planet is suitable for life. There are two large continents, one of which is rich in platinum ore.â€ Tâ€™Pol pointed a slender finger to the picture displayed on the situation room table. â€œThe Northern one. As far as we can tell this continent is uninhabited, although a considerable variety of fauna seems to be present.â€

â€œAny that may pose a threat?â€ Reed asked, immediately becoming alert.

Tâ€™Pol turned to the Lieutenant. â€œThe largest animals appear to be the size of a wolf. Although their potential dangerousness cannot be discounted, provided we use the proper cautionary measures I would say they do not constitute an impediment to a landing mission.â€

â€œOf course not,â€ Trip said with a grin. â€œIâ€™m sure our Security Officer here is already figurinâ€™ out some of those proper cautionary measures.â€ 

Malcolm looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Across the table from him Hoshiâ€™s mouth twitched, while Travisâ€™s flashed a much less discreet blinding smile. 

â€œTrip,â€ Archer admonished. 

The name had come out more like Chip â€“ undoubtedly a consequence of the breakfast incident. Tâ€™Pol watched Tucker and Reed exchange a furtive glance, and wondered if the shipâ€™s grapevine had already been set in motion. She returned her gaze to the situation table.

â€œThe local fauna may not be the most crucial factor to consider, if an away team is to be sent to the Northern continent,â€ Tâ€™Pol said calmly, certain that she would immediately regain everybodyâ€™s attention. All eyes, indeed, turned to her. 

She paused, and Archer immediately made a â€˜please continueâ€™ gesture with his hand. â€œPlease,â€ he mumbled encouragingly. â€œWeâ€™re allâ€¦â€ He cast a quick glance at Tâ€™Polâ€™s Vulcan ears and faltered. â€œYou knowâ€¦â€

Tâ€™Pol sighed inwardly. â€œMeteorological conditions,â€ she said, tilting her head and clasping her hands behind her back, â€œAre unstable and somewhat unpredictable on that continent. Temperatures between day and night vary considerably.â€

â€œWhat kind of range are we talkinâ€™ about?â€ Trip asked.

â€œExtreme. From the data I have been able to gather temperatures can rise to nearly forty degrees Celsius during the day and drop below zero at night.â€ 

â€œLovely place,â€ she overheard Reed comment under his breath to Tucker, as his eyebrows darted up. 

â€œThis and the continentâ€™s orography favour the development of heavy rainfall and storms,â€ Tâ€™Pol added.

Trip shrugged. â€œWeâ€™ll remember to bring an umbrella,â€ he quipped.

Reed turned to the Captain. â€œAssuming we can land close enough to the mining location, we wonâ€™t need to stay planet side for more than a few hours, Sir.â€

Archer narrowed his eyes, frowning. â€œWe?â€ he enquired, looking in turn at his Chief Engineer and Armoury Officer.

Reed shot a look at Tucker and cleared his throat uncomfortably. â€œAn impersonal use of the pronoun, Sir. Although I presume the landing party would include Commander Tucker, who has a direct interest in this mission.â€ He cast another quick glace in the Commanderâ€™s direction. 

Tucker flashed him one of his genial grins and added, â€œAnd someone who knows about explosives and can keep us safe from the dangerous fauna.â€ He smiled innocently. â€œI guess thatâ€™d be Malcolm.â€ 

Archer looked at them with a knowing glint in his eyes. â€œI see,â€ he said noncommittally.

â€œThe Southern continent, on the other hand,â€ Tâ€™Pol continued, interrupting the three menâ€™s illogical and not so subtle interaction â€œIs inhabited by a warp capable species.â€ She touched the screen before her and the display changed to show a long and narrow, irregularly-shaped land mass. Arms crossed lightly over her chest, she eyed Captain Archer, anticipating the expression of open excitement that indeed painted itself on the manâ€™s face. 

â€œThe Southern continentâ€™s climate is much milder,â€ Tâ€™Pol went on. â€œIt is logical to assume that it was the main reason why it was favoured for colonization over the Northern one.â€ 

Archer brought a hand to his chin. â€œHave the Vulhhans ever made honâ€™haht with this species?â€ 

This was the first real sentence the Captain had spoken since the beginning of their meeting, and it became immediately obvious to everybody that his pronunciation was a little off. A surprised silence followed. Tâ€™Pol looked at her human crewmates. Ensigns Sato and Mayweather were regarding Archer with open curiosity. Lieutenant Reed, on the other hand, had lowered his head and seemed to be enthralled by the deckplating. Although perhaps he was avoiding Commander Tuckerâ€™s gaze. This, after a moment, gave up trying to catch the Lieutenantâ€™s eye and turned to look unabashedly at the Captain. 

â€œAre you feelinâ€™ alright, Captâ€™n?â€ Enterpriseâ€™s Chief Engineer enquired bluntly. â€œIt sounds as if youâ€™ve got a hot potato in your mouth.â€ 

Reed raised his head abruptly and shot a disbelieving look at their outspoken colleague.

â€œFine,â€ Archer replied icily. â€œGo on, Subhhommnader,â€ he prompted.

Tâ€™Pol debated shortly how much she should reveal. Soval would not be pleased butâ€¦ â€œNot officially,â€ she answered eventually. â€œSome Vulcan... outcasts â€“ mind melders - did wander this far a few years ago. But it is not information the Vulcan High Command wouldâ€¦ corroborate.â€

Archer cast her what humans would define a grateful look and heaved a satisfied breath. â€œI see,â€ he said. He would no doubt find it agreeable to be able to inform Ambassador Soval that Enterprise had made first contact with a species the Vulcans had never â€“ at least officially â€“ encountered, Tâ€™Pol realised. 

â€œHow lonhh before weâ€™re in hhommunihhation range?â€ Archer asked, unperturbed by the odd looks coming his way.

Hoshi cleared her throat. â€œApproximately three hours, Captain.â€

An expression of concern crossed Reedâ€™s face. â€œMay I ask what your intentions are, Sir?â€ he enquired. His mood had changed drastically. 

Tâ€™Pol studied the Lieutenant. He was very likely anticipating that he would be needed on two fronts at the same time. Knowing his sense of duty, that would put him under considerable stress. 

Archer took a moment to reply. â€œWeâ€™ll establish hhonhhaht,â€ he said at length. â€œThatâ€™s more important. As for a mission to the Northern hhontinent...â€ 

â€œCaptâ€™n, with all due respect itâ€™s equally important to stock up on some kind of exchange good,â€ Tucker said, his own light mood all but gone. â€œYou never know when it might come in handy. Platinum isnâ€™t easy to come across, and if we ever find ourselves in real need to purchase spare parts... We canâ€™t let this opportunity go by.â€ 

Reed crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest, looking ready to do battle. It was quite fascinating. The Commander and Lieutenant could be conniving friends one moment and stern antagonists the next. They never had to look very hard to find - what was that human expression? â€“ a bone of contention.

â€œSir,â€ Reed countered, jerking his head sideways and narrowing his eyes. â€œWe do not know what these aliensâ€™ reaction will be to our contacting them. I strongly advise that before anyone is sent on any away mission we make sure that...â€

â€œEasy, you two.â€ Archer raised his hands in a calming gesture. 

Tâ€™Pol thought it was time to point out what she thought was an obvious fact. â€œCaptain, it would be highly irregular to land on the Northern continent and mine the ore without the permission of this planetâ€™s inhabitants.â€

Archer, Tucker and Reed all turned to her, looking, in order, embarrassed, frustrated and relieved.

â€œOf hhourse,â€ Archer acknowledged. â€œJust have a little patience, Chip,â€ Archer soothed his Chief Engineer. â€œIâ€™ll try to be diplomatic.â€

Tucker gave an understanding smirk. â€œAye, Capâ€™tn.â€ 

Archer turned to his Communications Officer. â€œHoshi, start hailing those people as soon as we are in range.â€

â€œAye, Sir,â€ the Ensign nodded, and Tâ€™Pol saw her beam with excitement, undoubtedly at the prospect of hearing a new language. 

The Captainâ€™s eyes scanned the room. â€œDismissed, everyone.â€ 

The senior staff began to file out of the situation room, and Tâ€™Pol noticed that Commander Tucker seemed to be making it a point to be the last one, letting everybody pass before him. It would be just like the stubborn Commander to try and once again plead his cause with the Captain. 

â€œHeard that Chef made a special recipe for ya this morninâ€™,â€ the Engineer said softly, tongue-in cheek.

She was already a few metres away, walking to her station, but her Vulcan hearing had allowed her to catch his words, which were undoubtedly intended for Archerâ€™s ears only. She slowed down just a little, repressing a little voice that said curiosity was an emotion. Archerâ€™s wry reply came only after a moment of what she could surmise was surprised silence. 

â€œYeah. Delicious stuff. Bitter aftertaste, though.â€

Â§Â§Â§ 

Six hours later Reed was standing rigidly in front of Archerâ€™s ready room desk. 

â€œBegging your pardon, Sir, we cannot be certain of their intentions,â€ he insisted with reined-in determination. 

The fact they sent us a history of their species from bloody Adam and Eve, and regaled us with their toothless smiles is no frigging guarantee of anything, he silently fumed. Couldnâ€™t the Captain see that? 

Archer sighed, which didnâ€™t help Malcolmâ€™s temper one bit. He hated it when the Captain made him feel as if he were over-reacting. He knew full well the man considered him paranoid. But after all, it was thanks to his paranoia that Enterprise still had her full crew complement.

â€œMalcolm,â€ Archer said, in that patient, fatherly tone Malcolm found possibly even more aggravating than his recklessness during first contacts. â€œThe Naatians seem friendly and sociable; they appear genuinely happy to meet us, and sent us a whole lot of information on their culture. And â€“ correct me if Iâ€™m wrong â€“ they havenâ€™t yet pointed any weapons at us; which they could, if they wanted to. So I donâ€™t see anything bad in inviting a few of them over for a visit.â€

â€˜Seem, appearâ€™â€¦ Couldnâ€™t the man hear himself? Reed clenched his jaw. The Captain had regained the use of all his consonants, but he doubted he would ever acquire the use of a little caution. Still standing at attention, Malcolm let his gaze wander from the wall behind Archer to his face, and studied it closely. The Captain had put on an expression of stoical endurance, the one he kept for moments like these, when he wanted to make his Chief of Security feel like an obsessed maniac. Malcolm, however, didnâ€™t let it bother him. He opposed with his own famous steely Lieutenant Reed gaze.

â€œCaptain, the Naatians canâ€™t even speak. They donâ€™t have a vocal apparatus. They communicate through gestures and expressions â€“ not even simple ones: their faces change shape and colour. This makes it rather difficult for us to convey anything more than very simple concepts. They seem friendly enough, but there is no telling what they might really be like. That story, for example, claiming that for religious reasons at this time of the year no visitors are allowed to land on their continent... well, frankly it sounds quite suspicious.â€ 

â€œMalcolm, you would suspect your own mother,â€ Archer commented with a disarming smile. â€œItâ€™s all in the info they sent over on their culture: once a year they hold special rites of purification of the land and no foreigners are allowed to set foot on it, for they would contaminate it. I see nothing suspicious about it.â€

Of course you wouldnâ€™t. Reed felt empty and exhausted. â€œWith all due respect, Captain, the information they sent us was written by those Vulcan melders; only God knows what they understood. Mind-melding is not what I would call a rigorous method of collecting data.â€ 

Silence followed his words, but he could see Archer was not changing his mind. He had to make a last effort; the Captain was going to place the ship at risk. 

â€œSir, at least postpone my mission with Commander Tucker to the Northern continent,â€ he all but begged. â€œYou never know when something might go wrong. I really think I ought to be on board when these aliens come over.â€ 

Archerâ€™s smile was still firmly on his face but not in his green eyes, which now showed patience beginning to run thin. â€œLieutenant,â€ he said, and Reed realised he was nearing the end of the line: the use of his rank was definitely not a good sign. â€œThese people were kind enough to give us permission to help ourselves to as much platinum as we want. I have no intention of receiving them guarded by a Security Officer armed to the teeth. Besides, Tâ€™Pol has reported that the weather conditions on the Northern continent are likely to take a turn for the worse in approximately fifteen hours. After that, storms will be moving across the continent for the next few days. I donâ€™t want any of my crew planet side at that point. Neither do I want to stay in orbit for a week waiting for the damn weather to clear up. Commander Tucker needs that platinum and you said it yourself: it wonâ€™t take long to land, plant a few explosives, collect the ore and leave. You will, in all likelihood, be back before our guests arrive.â€ 

â€œCaptain...â€ 

â€œAnd if you shouldnâ€™t, I am confident Ensign MÃ¼ller, your Second in Command, will be able to handle the situation perfectly well,â€ Archer interrupted him firmly. â€œTrip is prepping a shuttlepod. You have your orders, Lieutenant. Dismissed.â€

â€œAye, Sir,â€ Reed replied tautly, clamping down hard on his frustration and concern. He turned on his heels and triggered the ready-room door. Orders are orders, he told himself bleakly. But the Captain could be so bloody stubborn... 

â€œMalcolm,â€ Archer called after him as he was already crossing the threshold. 

Reed turned about. â€œSir?â€ That one word had been icy, but Malcolm couldnâ€™t hide the way he felt.

â€œI need you on that planet for a good reason,â€ Archer said. His tone, by contrast, was warm and almost apologetic. â€œI want the mission to be completed in as little time as possible, and your expertise with explosives makes you the best person to get the job done quickly and efficiently.â€ 

Reed looked his Captain straight in the eye. â€œMy primary job is to protect this crew,â€ he insisted, in a last attempt to sway him.

Archer regarded him fondly, and Malcolmâ€™s mind was briefly crossed by the ridiculous image of the man throwing him a piece of cheese. â€œTry not to worry so much, weâ€™ll be fine,â€ he finally told him. 

It was at moments like these that Malcolm Reed almost regretted not having joined the Navy.

Â§ 3 Â§

Chefâ€™s day was getting worse by the hour. Leaning against the central isle in the galley, he absentmindedly tossed the ration pack he had just thermo-sealed in a container where others he had prepared were already neatly stacked. Manetti had just given him the last piece of â€˜good newsâ€™.

â€œDid the Captain say what kind of meal he wants me to prepare?â€ he asked the Ensign, rubbing the painful bump that had formed on his head from his earlier close encounter with an open cabinet door. Normally, he would have been glad to let his creativity run wild and whip up something special for Captain Archerâ€™s guests, but today he had got up on the wrong side of the bed and didnâ€™t feel in the right mood.

Manetti shrugged. â€œNo. But he did say to tell you that these aliens have no teeth. So watch not to cook your pasta â€˜al denteâ€™,â€ he said with a grin.

â€œHa, ha. Very funny,â€ Chef commented dryly. 

â€œSeriously, Giuseppe,â€ Manetti insisted. â€œThese aliens really have no teeth. No denti whatsoever. As toothless as newborn babies. So make sure you prepare something soft.â€

Chefâ€™s shoulders slumped. â€œMagnifico...â€ he grumbled to himself.

â€œAnd try not to add any Unidentified Hidden Objects, like in this morningâ€™s scrambled eggs.â€

Chef glared at the Crewman. â€œGet going, Signor Manetti. Commander Tucker is leaving on an away mission with Lieutenant Reed, and I prepared fresh ration packs to re-stock the shuttlepods.â€

Manetti picked up the container. â€œSpecial ration packs for Commander Tucker, huh?â€ he suggested teasingly. â€œAh, but I almost forgot: he promised to mollify the Captain for you.â€ He lifted a few of the packs, reading their labels. â€œHmm, â€˜meatloaf and potatoesâ€™... â€˜catfish and mixed vegetablesâ€™... â€˜Pecan pieâ€™... and... Oh, whatâ€™s this - a poor little orphan: â€˜Pineapple cakeâ€™. Whatâ€™s it doing in here?â€ 

Chef took a couple of threatening strides, but Manetti made a sprint for the door and hurried out, laughing heartily.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œDo you revel in this, Commander?â€ Reed moaned. â€œOr is it your way of getting back at me?â€

Spinning Shuttlepod One out of a barrel roll, Trip glanced back at his friend, sitting at navigation, and realised with a start that he looked greener than a Vulcan with high blood-pressure.

â€œBloody hell,â€ Malcolm said weakly. â€œYou seem to derive perverse pleasure in making me sick as a dog.â€ With that he wrapped an arm around his mid-section and briefly squeezed his eyes shut, looking ready to keel over. 

â€œDamn, Iâ€™m sorry. I forgot about your motion sickness,â€ Trip genuinely apologised, immediately slowing down and levelling the pod. â€œItâ€™s that I kinda enjoy gettinâ€™ that tickle in my belly,â€ he said with a naughty grin. â€œI get carried away.â€

Malcolm groaned. â€œI doubt youâ€™d enjoy it if that tickle in my belly pushed whatâ€™s inside said belly all the way up and over the deck plating. Which you came awfully close to,â€ he said, his voice a little steadier now that the shuttle was too. 

Trip looked over his shoulder again and saw with relief that the colour on Malcolmâ€™s cheeks was slowly but surely fading into his more reassuring ghostly complexion. He offered him a contrite smirk and returned his attention to piloting the small craft through the thick clouds that now enveloped it. 

â€œLooks like Tâ€™Pol was right about the weather,â€ he commented thoughtfully. â€œThese are building into storm clouds.â€

â€œThey are indeed,â€ Malcolm agreed as he peered through the windshield. â€œLetâ€™s not waste any time down there,â€ he recommended tautly. â€œWaging war against a planetâ€™s natural elements is not my forte; besides, I could do without getting drenched.â€

Trip flashed him a smile. â€œAfraid of a little rain? Are you sure youâ€™re a true Brit?â€

â€œThe myth of England having particularly bad weather is nothing but that â€“ a myth,â€ Malcolm replied in his clipped accent. 

Trip fought to keep the pod on course as a strong gust of wind rocked it, and heard his friend moan softly again. He wondered if motion sickness was what had kept Malcolm from following his familyâ€™s tradition and joining the Royal Navy. He certainly couldnâ€™t imagine him on a ship rocked by the waves. Before long, however, all his attention was back on piloting and silence fell between them. 

â€œThe area where weâ€™ll be landinâ€™ is still a couple of hundred kilometres away,â€ Trip announced when the flying had become smooth again. â€œThe weather there, according to our Science Officer, should hold long enough for us to complete our mission. So cheer up, Lieutenant, I donâ€™t think youâ€™ll need a Mac.â€ 

â€œHmm. She also said the weather on this continent was unpredictable. The two things contradict each other, which doesnâ€™t make her statements very logical, if you ask me.â€

Trip heard concern in Malcolmâ€™s voice, and frowned. â€œWhatâ€™s the matter?â€ he enquired, glancing back at his friend again. â€œYou arenâ€™t really afraid to be caught in the rain, are ya?â€ 

Malcolm huffed, shifting his eyes briefly from his console to meet his gaze. â€œWell, if you really must know, I think all of this is utterly ridiculous,â€ he ranted. â€œWeâ€™re down here risking to be caught in the sodding perfect storm, while the Captain is determined to let a bunch of... perfect strangers on board, not giving a damn whether his Chief of Security is going to be there for the occasion. Splendid! I wouldnâ€™t be surprised if Travis were taking bets right now on who will run into trouble first.â€ 

Trip rolled his eyes. Trust Malcolm to find something to worry about. The clouds had thinned and his instruments showed clear weather ahead, so he put the shuttle on automatic pilot and swiveled his chair around. â€œPoint number one: knowinâ€™ Tâ€™Pol, there must be some logic â€“ however obscure â€“ behind her reasoninâ€™. Point number two: weâ€™ll be out of here before the storms hit. And point number three: weâ€™ll be back on Enterprise before the Captâ€™n receives the Naatians,â€ he said deadpan.

â€œRight,â€ Malcolm replied likewise, looking totally unconvinced.

Trip clapped his hands on his knees and got up. â€œYa know what, Lieutenant?â€ He went to the bench and lifted its seat up, rummaging inside the compartment beneath it. â€œIâ€™m hungry.â€

Malcolm snorted. â€œGood grief, Trip. Are you certain the Doctor didnâ€™t forget one of his creatures inside you the last time you were injured? The amount of food you manage to ingest isnâ€™t normal by any stretch of the imagination.â€

Trip ignored him. â€œChef sent freshly-made ration packs. And I happen to know from a secret source that he included pecan pie.â€ Finding what he was looking for, he straightened up and turned, beaming. â€œHere it is.â€

â€œYou canâ€™t be serious. Thatâ€™s your second piece today.â€ 

Trip just shrugged. â€œSo what?â€

â€œAnd then you have the courage to claim that you arenâ€™t Chefâ€™s favourite,â€ Malcolm said, shaking his head. 

â€œNo, I ainâ€™t.â€ Trip returned to sift inside the bench compartment. â€œAnd here, Mr. Reed, is the proof,â€ he announced, raising his eyebrows and extracting another pack. â€œPineapple cake.â€ 

He held it out to Malcolm, but his friend shook his head in denial this time, crossing his arms over his chest. â€œNo, thanks,â€ he said in a straight face, though a glint in his eyes betrayed amusement. 

Trip shrugged again, grinning. â€œSuit yourself. Itâ€™s your loss.â€ He tossed the pack back and proceeded to open his. 

A soft snort floated from his right. â€œI can just see you a few years from now: unable to reach over your pot-belly to tie your bootlaces,â€ Malcolm said. â€œI guarantee it, if you donâ€™t change a few bad habits.â€

â€œWell, what the heck, Iâ€™ll use shoes without laces,â€ Trip replied, his grin widening in a genial smile. â€œI refuse to go through life without enjoyinâ€™ a few pleasures.â€ He picked up a large piece of pie with his fork and popped it unrepentantly into his mouth.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œSir, bear in mind that Earthâ€™s sign-language is a long shot,â€ Hoshi said, sounding rather apprehensive. â€œI doubt very much that I will actually be able to hold much of a conversation.â€

Archer wasâ€™t going to let her anxiety influence him. â€œYes, yes,â€ he replied. â€œBut you saw on the viewscreen how very apt they are at reading and conveying facial expressions. Youâ€™ll do just fine, Hoshi,â€ he added, with a firm and reassuring nod. After all, Hoshi needed this once in a while, he told himself: a good challenge and the confidence of her Captainâ€™s trust. 

Taking long strides along the corridor headed for the airlock, where they would meet a delegation of Naatians, Archer turned to check on his Communication Officer and found she was gone. He stopped abruptly and Hoshi almost bumped into him. 

â€œOf all the species that inhabit the universe, we had to run into one without a vocal apparatus,â€ Hoshi huffed out despondently, a little out of breath. She smirked. â€œIt takes all the fun out of making first contact.â€

Archer patted her shoulder in a gesture of encouragement. â€œIâ€™m sure youâ€™ll feel differently once you break the ice.â€

At a junction in the corridor they were joined by Subcommander Tâ€™Pol and Ensign MÃ¼ller, who fell in step. 

Archer wasnâ€™t very happy about Reedâ€™s Second being there. He didnâ€™t like to think that he should bend and join the club of those who saw a potential threat in every alien they met. But he felt he owed Reed this small cautionary measure. It had all happened so very fast that he felt guilt tugging at his conscience. The Naatians had accepted his invitation with what could only be surmised as enthusiasm and had wasted no time in jumping on a vessel. Literally. Here they were, knocking on Enterpriseâ€™s outer hatch at barely fifteen-hundred hours, when Archer had meant for them to arrive for dinner. He felt like the old lady, the one in a bathrobe and rollers in her hair who realises her friends are already in the driveway and her cake hasnâ€™t been baked yet. Damn! He had told Malcolm heâ€™d be back from his away mission before their guests arrived. Well â€“ he hadnâ€™t really promised anything; if he recalled he had said in all likelihood. He just hoped Chef had baked his cake. 

â€œTry to be as inconspicuous as possible, Ensign,â€ Archer told the security man, eyeing his sidearm with a grimace. Not that that would be easy: MÃ¼ller was tall and well-built.

â€œSir?â€ MÃ¼ller enquired, puzzled.

Archer sighed. Reedâ€™s men were a guarantee when it came to feeling protected, but under their COâ€™s leadership they had all become, some more some less, slightly obsessed and mistrustful, which didnâ€™t make for appreciating the subtleties of diplomacy.

â€œI donâ€™t want them to get the idea that we are shaking their hands just so that we can pull them off balance and make them slip on the banana skins under their feet,â€ he patiently explained. 

MÃ¼llerâ€™s face drew a blank, but he nodded firmly and replied, â€œAye, Sir.â€ He fell back with Hoshi, and Archer glanced at Tâ€™Pol, who was left alone at his side at the front of the quartet. She walked with her usual composed gait, even though he was still taking long strides.

â€œI sent Crewman Manetti to inform Chef that our guests are arriving earlier than expected,â€ she said, her voice wavering slightly in rhythm with her steps.

â€œGood,â€ Archer replied, forcing his face into a contrived smile. Rushing had always made him nervous. He much preferred when he felt on top of things. 

â€œAre you all right, Captain?â€ Tâ€™Pol enquired in a quiet enough tone that only he could hear. â€œYou seem... upset.â€

â€œFine. Just a little nervous, as youâ€™d expect before a first contact,â€ Archer replied. â€œIâ€™ll try and repress my emotions a little better,â€ he added, raising his eyebrows.

Finally they rounded the last corner and were there. Archer straightened to his full height and glanced at his officers like a mother checking her children before the guests arrive. He gave a nod and Tâ€™Pol pressurised the airlock.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œLovely,â€ Malcolm grumbled, removing his cap briefly to wipe a sleeve across his brow. â€œWhy worry about the sodding storms, when we didnâ€™t need a single drop of rain to get drenched.â€ They had been walking for no more than half an hour and he seriously doubted there was an inch of his body left that wouldnâ€™t be suitable for fungal growth. 

The vegetation was lush but not very tall, probably a consequence of the sharp difference in temperature between night and day. It was mostly shrubs, some of them studded with fluffy white flowers, and small trees. They had been winding their way around them while keeping an eye on their direction, which would eventually lead them to the rocky area rich in platinum ore. Trip had let Malcolm take the lead, and he now skirted a patch of flowered shrubs, keeping well away from a large pond which was probably swarming with dangerous life forms. 

Malcolm swatted a couple of small but definitely alien-looking insects who had decided to get a ride on his bare arm, and reluctantly rolled down his sleeves again. â€œDamn heat, bloody humidity,â€ he ranted. Stopping, he unburdened his backpack and reached for the canteen. Trip came to a halt beside him, and Malcolm glanced at him. His friend had been uncharacteristically quiet during their march. â€œHas your tongue dried up? An amazing feat, in this mugginess,â€ he joked. Snorting, he passed him the water. â€œHere. Douse it and let me hear your distinctive drawl.â€

Trip blinked, rivulets of perspiration running freely down the sides of his face. He waved a hand in front of his eyes, chasing away a cloud of flying things and accepted the offering. He was a sight. And he was still silent. Malcolm frowned, which sent a couple of rivulets of sweat down the sides of his own nose. 

â€œTrip?â€

Trip gave him back the canteen, together with a warm if somewhat vacant smile, and turned on his heels to head for the pond. 

Malcolmâ€™s tactical mind reacted immediately. â€œCommander,â€ he called out warily. â€œSay something.â€ But Trip kept walking on slightly unstable legs in the direction of the water and Malcolm was left no other option than to run after him.

â€œTrip,â€ he repeated, grabbing him by an arm and turning him around while his heart began to pump adrenaline through his body. All kinds of nasty scenarios had begun to form in his mind.

Trip raised his eyebrows and chuckled, the blighted man. Releasing him, Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest and shot him an incinerating glare. â€œI fail to see the funny side in all this,â€ he growled. â€œAnd I would expect you to understand that itâ€™s not the time for practical jokes.â€

â€œThought Iâ€™d take a swim. I saw fish jumpinâ€™ in that pond,â€ Trip said with one of his winning grins. 

The words were no apology, nor could be said to voice any relevant consideration or profound thought â€“ they hardly made any sense, in fact â€“ but at least Trip had finally spoken, and Malcolm sighed, relief chasing away his anger. â€œMay I remind you it is not for its recreational resources that we have come to this blasted planet?â€ he said with a small smile.

Trip giggled. â€œI feel so blessedly drunk,â€ he added cheerfully. 

â€œWell, you know it doesnâ€™t take much to make you feel that way,â€ Malcolm joked, trying to ease his anxiety. â€œIt must be the heat,â€ he added, pushing the canteen into his hands again. â€œCome on, drink some more,â€ he all but ordered. 

Trip peered inside its narrow mouth. â€œYa sure thereâ€™s water in here?â€

â€œCome on, Trip. Be serious for a change. Drink.â€ Malcolm waved a hand to hurry him. â€œWe must get going again, weâ€™re still only half way there.â€ 

â€œAye aye, Sir.â€

Â§ 4 Â§

They had smiled at each other profusely, and Archer had found himself wondering if Naatians found the Humansâ€™ smiles, with their two rows of teeth, threatening. He certainly found the Naatiansâ€™ smiles odd in an unsettling way: these people indeed had no teeth, and their... well, gums â€“ the word sounded perfectly fitting for the gummy flesh that replaced the apparatus more traditionally found in peopleâ€™s mouths â€“ were bulging and shiny, as if swollen. If one concentrated solely on their smiles, it was like looking at overgrown teething babies. 

There were four of them, all very similar in aspect. Shiny brown scales in place of hair, one-piece suits adhering to their fit bodies, a bit in the style of Subcommander Tâ€™Polâ€™s outfits. Curves and bulges were in all the right places, as well as in some of the wrong ones, at least by human standards. Indeed, if one went by what their garments let see of their anatomy it was impossible to tell what gender these four aliens were. 

While they sipped on an aperitif, and while Hoshi, with the help of some creative use of sign language, was doing her best to introduce their guests to Enterprise and their mission, Archer took Phlox, who had joined them, aside, and ventured to ask his opinion: the doctor gleefully launched into a lengthy and detailed medical explanation of why he supposed Naatians were both genders at the same time, making Archer repeatedly curse his curiosity. He was already not very hungry, given the hour, and Phloxâ€™s descriptions were definitely not the best of appetizers.

The most extraordinary feature of Naatians, however, was their faces: not particularly finely chiselled, they were incredibly mobile, having the remarkable characteristic of being able to change shape and complexion. It all had to do with the necessity to communicate through signs and expressions, presumably; but seeing someone before you turn from anaemic-white to purple or green, while his features moved from squarish to oval, to trapezoid, and back again, was striking to say the least. Archer had tried not to stare but the sight, if slightly disquieting, was truly magnetizing. 

The tour of the ship had gone fairly well. The Naatians had clapped their eight-fingered hands on many occasions, which Hoshi had surmised being a sign of admiration; stomped their feet to convey, in all likelihood, hilarity; jerked pear-shaped heads sideways as a way to ask more detailed explanations; and become almost all the colours of the rainbow: bright orange in the launchbays; various shades of blue in Engineering; radioactive green in sickbay. Not that they â€“ Hoshi included â€“ had any idea what that meant. 

They had passed in front of the Armoury, but of course that was off-limits. Archer had seen a couple of them look at its door as their faces turned V-shaped. The fact had not gone unnoticed with the ever-vigilant MÃ¼ller, who had tensed up and virtually shooed them away, disguising the action as a gesture intended to steer them in the right direction. Archer had glared at the security man, belatedly remembering that the Naatians were probably experts in reading oneâ€™s facial expressions. Of one accord their complexions had gone grey, for reasons Archer didnâ€™t yet understand.

So now they took their places around the table in the Captainâ€™s mess: Archer, Tâ€™Pol, Hoshi, Phlox, and the four Naatians. MÃ¼ller was unhappily stationed outside â€“ just outside â€“ ready, as he had reminded Archer in an ominous low voice, to jump in, in case of need.

Naatian the Tall â€“ as Archer had baptised him (uhm, her?) because of his, well its towering height â€“ was the most loquacious of the four, so to speak. Presently it was in the middle of a lengthy communication: arms flinging, fingers snapping, shoulders dancing the cha-cha, face moulding into the most absurd shapes. Archer was having a hard time keeping a straight face. The man... woman... â€“ whatever â€“ was offering a great show and only the proximity of his composed Vulcan Second in Command kept him from chuckling openly.

Hoshi cleared her throat. â€œHe is saying, Sir, that Enterprise is a rather large vessel â€“ at least I think thatâ€™s what he said.â€ Her eyebrows creased in slight uncertainty.

â€œUh, yes,â€ Archer replied, shifting his gaze from Naatian the Tall to Naatian the Curious. â€œShe is the largest of our fleet. And the fastest. We are quite proud of her.â€

Hoshi, who, quite predictably, had started to enjoy the challenge, stopped in the middle of what looked more like a tribal dance than a simultaneous translation and turned to Archer with a puzzled look in her almond-shaped eyes. â€œProud, Sir? How am I going to render that?â€ 

â€œAh, I wouldnâ€™t know Hoshi,â€ Archer replied raising his eyebrows. â€œHow about puffing up your cheeks and getting some weird colour on them?â€

The comment made Hoshi burst into a giggle, which she quickly restrained, while Phloxâ€™s mouth curved into one of its improbable grins. Tâ€™Polâ€™s expression, by contrast, was the subtle but still recognisable Vulcan version of irritation. Archer immediately regretted the gibe, feeling a little embarrassed. But â€“ goodness â€“ this felt more like the circus than a first contact. 

Just then Manetti came in. â€œIf we may, Sir, we are ready to serve the hors dâ€™oeuvre.â€

â€œBy all means, Crewman.â€

Naatian the Suspicious regarded the small flans with narrowed eyes. His face turned the colour of mud and pulled into a slightly trapezoid shape. Naatian the Curious picked its plate up and brought it to its nostrils, smelling the food noisily. Archer decided they needed a little gentle push, so he smiled his umpteenth smile, got his fork and opened the dances.

Â§Â§Â§

Malcolm was first aware of his nose itching as they skirted some, well, reedy grass which grew on the east shore of a big expanse of water. They were already in sight of their destination and he had taken the direct path to it, which passed between a field of those white-flowered shrubs and the lake. He had eyed the fluffy blossoms with slight dread, but the other route, in addition to being longer, would have meant going around the water through the dense grove of trees which grew on the other side of it, and after Tâ€™Polâ€™s report on the local fauna and her recommendation that he be careful he had deemed it less risky to take his chances with the flowered shrubs. Now he was regretting it deeply. Damned, bloody, sodding allergies, he silently cursed, losing his fight against the first sneeze.

â€œEtchoo!â€

â€œBless ya.â€ 

â€œTh...â€ Malcolm closed his eyes and held his breath, willing to shut the door on the next impending sneeze and send it back to wherever it was coming from. â€œThank you,â€ he managed at length. He shrugged. â€œAllergies,â€ he muttered as an explanation. Stopping, he went through his pockets and their usual supply of handkerchiefs in search of a dry one. He was more likely to find a gold-fish or two. 

â€œI just needed that, a lovely allergic reaction, to fully enjoy myself on this paradise of a planet,â€ he complained with a sarcastic huff. â€œNow all I can ask for is to run into some of that local fauna, the kind we ought to take precautionary measures against, and â€“ voila â€“ the fun will be complete.â€ 

Settling for a hankie that was just damp, as opposed to soaking wet, he blew his nose. Now his eyes were watering too, but â€“ what the hell â€“ join the club: so was the rest of his body.

Trip, who had maintained his strangely meditative mood, let out a dreamy sigh. â€œYou can be a real pain in the ya-know-what, Loo-tenant. My, ya fussy! Might be a bit hotâ€˜n humid, Iâ€™ll grant ya that, but just look around: not a cloud in the sky, beautiful lake, gorgeous cotton-like flowers...â€

His Southern drawl had the slurred quality that Malcolm associated with a drink too many, and he began to seriously wonder if the canteen had actually contained only plain water or... Nah! He shook his head to clear it of the absurd idea. He too had drunk from it. And he felt just fine. Well, not quite, but that was another story. 

â€œA pain in the you-know-what?â€ Malcolm countered. â€œLet me tell you, Trip: without th...â€ He pinched his itchy nose. â€œ...Without this fussy pain in the... Etchoo!... you-know-what, your precious platinum would remain where it is.â€ A few drops of something â€“ sweat, saliva, he couldnâ€™t tell â€“ flew off, propelled the explosive pâ€™s of his irritated British accent. They hit Trip in the face, making Malcolm feel mortified, but the engineer just wiped them off unperturbed. 

â€œYeah, well, canâ€™t but agree with ya,â€ he said, shrugging; then he yawned. â€œTell ya what: you go get it, Loo-tenant. I feel totally lazy.â€ 

â€œYou wh-at?â€

But Trip just stretched, dropped to the ground and laid back on his elbows, crossing his legs. â€œThis place reminds me ofâ€¦â€

Â§Â§Â§

The hors dâ€™oeuvre had not been a hit. Definitely not a hit, Archer could tell as much. There is something universal in the facial expressions denoting dislike. The thick asparagus soup, fortunately, had seemed more to their taste, and the Naatians had sucked it up noisily, shaping their mouths like the nozzles of as many vacuum cleaners. Even Tâ€™Pol had not been able to repress an impulse of distaste: she had frozen briefly, which, to the trained eye, was the equivalent of a smirk of disgust. Luckily, their guests had been too busy to notice it.

Now, as they waited for the next course, conversation, or rather, communication, lulled â€“ at least inter-species communication. The Naatians were communicating plenty among themselves, and Hoshi was at a loss translating for her Captain and fellow officers. 

â€œIâ€™m sorry, Sir,â€ she apologised tensely. Archer could hear a hint of anger beside the frustration in her voice. â€œThey gesticulate too fast, Iâ€™m still learning... And I suspect they are using abbreviations, like a sort of dialect.â€

â€œHow nice of them,â€ Archer muttered through gritted teeth, careful to keep his mouth shaped into what was turning out to be a perennial smile. Heâ€™d probably have to undergo surgery to be able to straighten his face again, after this first contact was over.

Tâ€™Pol put down her spoon. â€œThey may want to keep some of their comments to themselves, Captain,â€ she said softly, with her usual poise. Her eyebrows shot up briefly. â€œDifferent cultures have different codes of politeness.â€

â€œNo kidding,â€ Archer murmured back levelly. â€œIf I had slurped my soup like that my mother would have killed me.â€

â€œAn illogically harsh punishment,â€ Tâ€™Pol commented.

Archerâ€™s brow creased. â€œA figure of speech. Donâ€™t Vulcans have any?â€ he asked, hurrying to add, â€œNever mind.â€ 

Breaking a bite off his bread stick in frustration, he chewed on it with passion. Heâ€™d had enough of letting these aliens speak among themselves and ignore them. He picked up the carafe. â€œTea?â€ he asked loudly with a glance at Hoshi that meant no need to translate this.

Naatian the Haughty turned to him â€“ and the colour of a rotting persimmon â€“ just as Manetti entered balancing a serving plate loaded with omelettes. The crewman lowered it to serve them out, but as soon as the Naatians set eyes on the food they jumped to their feet of one accord, the Haughty knocking Manetti off balance. A couple of omelettes went sliding off the plate, ending with a spat on the white tablecloth. The aliens took a step back.

What happened next was going to haunt Archerâ€™s dreams for a long time. As he too rose, unsure of what to do, the four Naatians shaped their hands into guns, like children playing war. Then, just like children playing war, they fired.

He wouldnâ€™t need surgery after all: Archerâ€™s smile was gone in an instant as he watched Tâ€™Pol, Phlox and Manetti fall one after the other unconscious to the ground. 

Â§Â§Â§

â€œSummertiiiime, and the livinâ€™ is eeeeasy...â€

Malcolm blinked. This wasnâ€™t happening. It couldnâ€™t be happening. It must be his allergies, giving him hallucinations. He obviously wasnâ€™t on a planet in thirty-some degreesâ€™ heat and ninety percent humidity, and that wasnâ€™t really Trip stretched out on the ground, singing at the top of his lungs. And just that tiny bit off key, one might add, to make the experience subtly excruciating.

â€œ...Fish are jumpinâ€™, and the cotton is high...â€

â€œBloody hell.â€ 

Malcolmâ€™s head was throbbing painfully and he was beginning to feel positively rotten. 

â€œTrip, quit joking, Iâ€™m not feeling all that well,â€ he moaned, pressing both hands to his temples. They felt a bit hot, but then again, they werenâ€™t exactly in the Arctic.

â€œOh, your Mamaâ€™s rich and your Pa is good lookinâ€™...â€

Malcolm closed his eyes. â€œNeither,â€ he muttered in despair, reaching blindly for another hankie. â€œAnd anyway I could swear it was the other way round.â€ 

He opened his eyes again in time to see Tripâ€™s turn up and sideways in thought. The Engineer  
shrugged. 

â€œOh, your Daddyâ€™s rich, and your ma is good lookinâ€™â€¦â€

â€œNot particularly.â€ Crouching, Malcolm shook his friendâ€™s shoulder weakly. â€œStop it, please,â€ he begged. â€œThis is no time forâ€¦ for this, whatever it is.â€ 

Trip held out a shaky hand towards Malcolmâ€™s watery eyes. â€œSo hush, little baby, donâ€™t you cryyyyy....â€

Â§ 5 Â§

MÃ¼ller stopped pacing and turned to the sound of the door swishing open. He heaved a sigh of relief. Heâ€™d had enough of wondering if everything was well with the Captain and the others. Not that he really expected anything to happen, but being the person currently in charge of the shipâ€™s security, he felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

Archer appeared, wearing a funny expression on his face. â€œSorry, Ensign,â€ he murmured.

â€œItâ€™s fine, Sir. It wasnâ€™t a very long dinner, actually,â€ MÃ¼ller replied, straightening his posture. Then he noticed the stance of the tall alien behind Archer, and the Captainâ€™s words suddenly seemed to take on a different meaning. But no, it was a hand. Well, shaped like a gun. Still, it was a hand. Though it was pointed at the Captainâ€™s back... Lieutenant Reedâ€™s angry face flashed unexpectedly across MÃ¼llerâ€™s mind and he almost jumped out of his skin. 

He made to reach for his phase pistol, but Archer stopped him. â€œI wouldnâ€™t do that, Ensign,â€ he said firmly.

MÃ¼llerâ€™s eyes went wide with surprise and worry. â€œCaptain?â€ he stuttered.

â€œIâ€™m afraid these aliensâ€™ fingers are damned effective as weapons,â€ Archer said. He took a few steps forward and glanced grimly over his shoulder at his private mess, where MÃ¼ller could now see Hoshi being similarly threatened and the bodies of their fellow crewmembers slumped on the floor. 

â€œAre theyâ€¦?â€ 

â€œStunned,â€ Archer hastened to reassure him. â€œI checked.â€

The tall Naatian pushed the Captain unceremoniously forward, and the others followed the two out into the main mess hall, which was conveniently empty because of the mid-afternoon hour. Hoshi looked worried and confused. 

â€œWhat do they want?â€ MÃ¼ller asked tensely, backing as the group advanced.

Archer smirked. â€œNo idea, but I suppose weâ€™ll find out.â€

But MÃ¼ller wasnâ€™t going to find out any time soon, for the next moment he was sent to join his fellow crewmembers in dreamland. 

Â§Â§Â§

â€œCommander Charles Tucker III, Chief Engineer on the Starship Enterprise.â€

Malcolm narrowed his eyes and held up a hand, placing it in front of Tripâ€™s nose. â€œHow many fingers are these?â€ 

Tripâ€™s eyebrows shot up and his head jerked back so that he could focus on Malcolmâ€™s hand. â€œFive,â€ he replied after a moment. 

Malcolm opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

â€œThree.â€ A smile lit up Tripâ€™s sweaty face. â€œWhy are ya askinâ€™ me all these dumb questions? I donâ€™t remember banginâ€™ my head any time recently.â€

â€œBecause your caterwauling and juvenile behaviour have me wondering about your well-being,â€ Malcolm sputtered, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward. He had lifted the man bodily up to his feet at the price of a full minute of agonising throbbing in his skull, and now he was eager to resume walking the last uphill stretch to their destination. 

â€œWhatâ€™s wrong with me singinâ€™?â€

â€œPlenty.â€

â€œWell, youâ€™re a real sulker, Malcolm, ya know that?â€

Malcolm bit his tongue, holding back a nasty reply. His head was killing him, no point getting more aggravated than necessary. 

Trip didnâ€™t seem quite himself, but except for a more accented slur and this sudden and thoroughly annoying desire to show off his vocal ineptitude the man was fine. No fever, no nausea, no headache, no disorientation. He had answered all his questions correctly. He was just acting a littleâ€¦ wellâ€¦ drunk was the only word that came to his mind. The caves were no further than a few hundred meters now. They were so close that it didnâ€™t make sense calling off the mission. Letâ€™s get this done and over with, he thought doggedly. 

Tripâ€™s defiant voice soared again. â€œOne of these mornin's you're gonna rise up singin'â€¦â€ 

â€œTrip, p-lease!â€

â€œThen you'll spread your wings, and you'll take to the skyâ€¦â€

â€œIâ€™d rather use a shuttlepod.â€

â€œBut 'till that mornin' there's a nothin' can harm youâ€¦â€

â€œWrong, there is: your bloody braying.â€

â€œWith Daddy and Mammy standin' byâ€¦â€

Malcolm groaned. â€œYouâ€™re not exactly a Pavarotti, Mr. Tucker,â€ he muttered as he trod on, trying to ignore his splitting headache, dripping nose, burning eyes, soaking uniform, plus the cursed heat and the gut feeling that this mission was only going to get worse.

â€œA what?â€ 

â€œNever mind.â€ 

Trip eyed him. â€œOh, I love to climb a mountainâ€¦â€ 

â€œDammit.â€

â€œAnd to reach the highest peak...â€ 

Suddenly Tucker stumbled on a rock and grabbed onto Malcolm to stop himself from falling. They both swayed. Before Malcolm knew it Trip had taken his left hand in his and was pressing his sweaty cheek against him. 

â€œBut it doesnâ€™t thrill me half as much as dancinâ€™ cheek to cheekâ€¦â€

Â§Â§Â§

â€œSir, Iâ€™m not sure.â€ Hoshiâ€™s voice wavered with apprehension as she warily watched Naatian the Suspicious repeat a series of gestures. Its face had become elongated and taken on a sickly hue, which did nothing to improve its appearance. 

Through his anger and concern Archer felt sorry for his Communication Officer. â€œCanâ€™t you even give me a rough idea? No one expects you to provide a state-of-the-art translation here, Hoshi.â€

Their walk through the corridors had arisen no suspicions in the crewmen they had met. The aliens had formed a tight group around Hoshi and him, and no one had noticed the pointed â€˜weaponsâ€™ behind their backs. But their destination had been clear in Archerâ€™s mind right from the start: the Armoury. And now they were in front of its door.

â€œIâ€™d guessâ€¦â€ Hoshi hesitated. Suddenly steeling herself, she said, â€œCaptain, my best guess is that he wants you to order everybody out of it.â€ 

Archer grimaced, but the Haughty meaningfully pressed his finger against Hoshiâ€™s side, and he found himself nodding quickly, hoping these aliens understood the gesture correctly. He raised a hand to the comm. link near the Armoury door, and pressed it open. 

â€œThis is Captain Archer. We are facing a hostage situation. I need you to evacuate the Armoury.â€

Â§Â§Â§

â€œWhen the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie that's amoreeeeâ€¦â€

Good Lord, where had Trip heard such tunes? They must be at least two-hundred yearsâ€™ old. Apparently the man not only liked old films but was also a connoisseur of vintage songs. 

â€œWhen the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine that's amoreeeâ€¦â€

â€˜Too much wineâ€™ is really what Trip sounded like heâ€™d had. Malcolm massaged his throbbing temples and tried to shut his friendâ€™s voice out. They had finally stopped at the entrance of a large cave, and he had immediately unburdened his backpack and got down to prepare the charges to mine the ore. Trip, on the other hand, had gone to sit with his back against a big boulder and had continued undisturbed on his revival of antediluvian tunes. Malcolm had decided to let him be, since there seemed to be nothing he could do to stop him. Besides, he wouldnâ€™t want him anywhere near explosives, in the state he was.

A breeze had picked up, and from his crouched position Malcolm lifted his head and closed his eyes briefly against it, enjoying the soothing sensation on his sweaty, burning skin. He had felt a few shivers down his spine and was beginning to fear he was perhaps developing a slight fever. The thought was a bit frightening. It meant his allergic reaction was more serious than he had anticipated. He looked up at the sky and felt another twinge of concern: a few clouds were visible now in the far distance. The storms were coming. But theyâ€™d be out of here by then. He frowned and went back to his job, wanting to start on their way back as soon as possible. 

â€œBells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling ting-a-ling-a-ling and youâ€™ll sing Vita Bellaaaaâ€¦â€

â€œCommander, Iâ€™m going into the cave to set the explosives,â€ Malcolm said loudly, trying to make himself heard over the singing and choosing his Lieutenant voice in the hope Trip would react to it.

â€œHearts will play tippy-tippy-tay tippy-tippy-tay like a gay tarantellaâ€¦â€

â€œTRIP!â€ Malcolm flinched and closed his eyes tightly as the shout sent pain shooting down his neck seemingly all the way to his toes. But finally he obtained silence. 

â€œWhat?â€ Trip asked innocently.

Malcolm opened his eyes. â€œI am going into the cave to set the explosives,â€ he repeated slowly. â€œDo. Not. Move.â€ 

â€œWhy should I?â€ 

â€œRight. No reason,â€ Malcolm agreed. â€œI wonâ€™tâ€¦ Etchoo!... be long.â€

â€œBless ya.â€ Trip smiled. 

â€œThanks.â€

â€œWhen you swim in the sea and an eel bites your knee that's a morayyyâ€¦â€ 

Malcolm grimaced.

â€œA New Zealander man with a permanent tan that's a Maoriiiiâ€¦â€

Shaking his head, Malcolm picked up his gear and headed inside the cave.

Â§Â§Â§

Archer watched in dismay as Naatian the Tall passed yet another piece of phase cannon through the cannon housingâ€™s hatch to Naatian the Curious. The Curious took it, turned it over in his hands as if he were studying it carefully, and tossed it on the floor. This had been going on for at least ten minutes now, and the Armoury was fast-becoming littered with pieces of cannon. 

In another corner, the Haughty was getting every single phase pistol and gun out of the cabinet and taking them apart. The Suspicious, on the other hand, after tying him and Hoshi up and locking the Armoury door, had climbed onto the elevated deck to Reedâ€™s console and was, from what Archer could gather, misaligning targeting sensors and generally scrambling tactical systems thoroughly.

â€œOh-boy. I hope Iâ€™m not around to see Lieutenant Reedâ€™s face when he sees all this,â€ Hoshi murmured. â€œOr perhaps I hope I am. Should be a sight.â€

Archer fumed. He had to find a way to overpower these aliens and regain command of his ship. â€œWhat the hell are they doing this for?â€ he grunted, furious with the Naatians and deep down also a bit with himself for letting this happen. â€œIt doesnâ€™t even look like they want our technology. More like they just want to take it apart!â€

From the table where he was brutalizing Malcolmâ€™s precious weapons the Haughty waved a vehement hand in their direction, his face grey and perfectly oval. 

â€œI think heâ€™s saying we should be quiet,â€ Hoshi whispered.

â€œâ€˜Shut-up or elseâ€™, Ensign: thatâ€™s the translation youâ€™re looking for.â€

Â§Â§Â§

Malcolm checked the charges once more and stood up. His head immediately started to spin, forcing him to put a hand to the rock face to steady himself. He closed his eyes and suddenly became aware that his breath was somewhat short. When had that started? He had been so focused on his job that he had not paid attention to anything else. Damn. A runny nose and a few sneezes were one thing, but thisâ€¦ He ought to have been more cautious with those flowered shrubs. What if his condition became serious? With Trip in this state... He fumbled in his pockets and found a spray he always carried around for emergency situations. A few seconds later his breathing had evened out, and he tried to put the situation back into a less worrisome perspective â€“ heâ€™d set the bloody explosives off, get the ore and theyâ€™d head back. 

â€œMalcolm?â€

Malcolm spun towards the caveâ€™s entrance, belatedly remembering his dizziness. â€œTrip,â€ he said in surprise, as he groped for the rock again to keep upright. 

â€œYup, thatâ€™s me.â€

Malcolm frowned in disappointment. â€œI thought you said youâ€™d wait outside,â€ he said. He really needed Trip to stay put if he was to detonate the charges.

â€œUh, yeah, that was the plan, but weâ€™ve got a problem,â€ Trip drawled, still sounding intoxicated and happy. 

Not another one, please, Malcolm silently begged. He didnâ€™t need more problems. â€œWhat problem?â€ he asked warily.

Trip waved a thumb over his shoulder. â€œWe got ourselves company,â€ he said with a sigh.

Malcolmâ€™s heart jumped in his throat. â€œWhat? Who?â€ he asked tensely. He stumbled forward and with a couple of strides was near Trip, pulling him more inside the cave, while he reached for his phase pistol. He squinted against the brightness of the daylight, trying to see outside. â€œI thought Tâ€™Pol said this continent was uninhabitedâ€¦â€ 

â€œâ€™Tis. Unless you wanna count a pack of large quadrupeds as â€˜inhabitantsâ€™.â€

â€œQuadrupeds?â€ Malcolm groaned. â€œBloody hell, the local fauna...â€

â€œDonâ€™t look very friendly either,â€ Trip commented with a smirk.

Malcolm gripped his weapon tightly and pushed Trip behind him. â€œStay here,â€ he told him. â€œAnd this time do,â€ he added meaningfully. Keeping close to the cave wall, he reached the mouth of the cave and peeked outside. A dozen creatures were sitting fanned out, blocking their exit, and he felt an icy knot form in his gut. The animals were skinny but well muscled, and covered with a thick, grey fur that made them look very much like large dogs, or wolves. A few differences, but Malcolm didnâ€™t stop to catalogue them, for when the creatures saw him they bared rows of sharp-looking teeth and growled lowly. Damn, couldnâ€™t the life forms on this planet be at least consistent â€“ preferably all toothless? 

The attack was sudden but not unexpected. Malcolm raised his pistol and fired.

 

Â§ 6 Â§

Archer narrowed his eyes, wishing he could incinerate the Curious, who was meticulously inspecting every screw and bolt the Tall was passing him. Nothing personal â€“ he would have liked to incinerate all four of them â€“ but the Curious was closest. Judging from the amount of debris on the floor, he and the Tall were nearly finished dismantling a whole phase cannon. They had worked with incessant zeal. Archer hoped Naatians were subject to backache and that the job left them in need of intense physiotherapy. 

â€œGreat,â€ he muttered under his breath.

â€œI wonder if theyâ€™ll do the same with the other cannons,â€ Hoshi dared to whisper back, noticing the Naatians seemed too busy to pay them very much attention. 

â€œWatch the Haughty,â€ Archer warned, shifting his gaze towards the corner where the slayer of phase pistols looked as if he was having the time of his life. 

â€œThe what?â€ Hoshi murmured back with a frown.

Archer belatedly remembered that the names where just something he had given the aliens in his mind: Hoshi had many gifts but at last count clairvoyance was not one of them. â€œThe one servicing the pistols,â€ he breathed out sarcastically, jerking his head in the right direction, â€œThe one who told us to shut up.â€

â€œAhâ€¦ yes.â€

Archer let out a soft snort of frustration. â€œHe seems to be having fun, curse him.â€ 

Hoshi studied the alien in question then shifted her gaze to the Naatian at Malcolmâ€™s console. â€œNot nearly as much fun as the Lieutenant will have realigning the targeting sensors when he comes back,â€ she whispered. â€œAssuming heâ€™ll have a ship to come back to,â€ she murmured as an afterthought. 

Archer yawned. Yawned? How could he yawn at a time like this? Suddenly he felt Hoshiâ€™s head on his shoulder.

â€œSorry, Sir,â€ she murmured self-consciously, jerking it up again. â€œThis position is quite uncomfortable,â€ she added as a way of an apology.

Indeed they had been sitting with their wrists and ankles tied for at least half an hour. Tiredness was setting in. 

â€œNo problem, Ensign,â€ Archer murmured back. â€œSince there is nothing we can do at the moment, might as well try and get comfortable.â€

Â§Â§Â§

â€œHey, Bungalow Bill, what did you kill, Bungalow Bill...â€

Malcolm could hardly appreciate Tripâ€™s current musical comment as he shoved his friend unceremoniously back inside the cave: his mind was thoroughly distracted by the pain in the limp and bloodied limb that was hanging at his side. He had stunned a couple of those creatures and driven them back, but not before one of them had made close contact and clawed his left arm. The pack had now retreated to some distance, but they still seemed bent on getting their free meal. 

â€œI think I might have scared them enough that they wonâ€™t come inside,â€ Malcolm said through gritted teeth. â€œBut I doubt theyâ€™ll leave us alone.â€

â€œHey, Bungalow Bill, what did you kill, Bungalow Bill...â€

Malcolm closed his eyes briefly, leaning in frustration with his back against the rock face and letting himself slide down to a crouching position. The Beatles. At least Tripâ€™s taste showed signs of improvement. 

Damn, he didnâ€™t need an injury now. Not on top of an allergic reaction, with Trip acting drunk, a pack of predators stalking them, and bad weather coming. He pulled at the torn sleeve of his uniform to inspect his arm and hissed in pain, fighting off a bout of light-headedness. From what he could see the cuts werenâ€™t too deep. The injury was more painful than serious, but it was bleeding freely. Lucky those creatures didnâ€™t seem to know what a jugular is. 

â€œWhat did ya do to your arm?â€ Trip suddenly asked, stopping singing.

Malcolm grimaced. â€œOne of those wolf-like animalsâ€¦â€ 

â€œYou oughtta be more careful, Mal,â€ Trip said, grimacing back in sympathy. â€œGotta take care of that wound.â€ 

Malcolm watched him stagger to the backpack and find the medkit. 

â€œHe went out tiger hunting with his elephant and gunâ€¦ In case of accidents he always took his momâ€¦â€ Trip shook his head. â€œYa didnâ€™t take your mom, did ya?â€ 

Malcolm let out a mirthless huff. He was starting to shiver. Bringing a weary hand to his eyes, he cursed himself for his carelessness. He should have called off the mission when Trip had begun to show signs of not being himself. He would never forgive himself if something should happen to them, to Trip, because of it. But then again, if something was going to happen, heâ€™d be beyond being able to regret it. He had to react. With an effort, he pushed himself off the wall and rose, wincing, to his feet. 

Trip immediately stumbled to help him. â€œHey, where dâ€™ya think yaâ€™re goinâ€™?â€ he asked, concern seeping into his drunken drawl. â€œGotta stop the bleedinâ€™â€. Not that Malcolm could rely much on his friendâ€™s balance; they both stood swaying like a couple of drunkards. 

Trip started to put Malcolmâ€™s good arm across his shoulder but Malcolm disentangled himself. â€œThose creatures,â€ he croaked out. â€œFirst I must find a way to keep them at bay.â€ He staggered to his backpack and got out three distress flares, blessing his foresight for always wanting to bring so many â€˜unnecessaryâ€™ things along. 

â€œHave I ever told ya youâ€™re damn stubborn, Loo-tenant?â€ Trip frowned in irritation. He narrowed his eyes and sang in his face, â€œHe's the all American bullet-headed Saxon mother's sonâ€¦â€ 

â€œTrip, please,â€ Malcolm begged weakly. Iâ€™m not even American, he thought incongruously, as if the song really had any meaning. But his friend, for whatever reason, was in his own, distorted world. 

Â§Â§Â§

Manetti was surfing. Was he snow or water surfing? He didnâ€™t know and couldnâ€™t care less which one it was. He had never done either of them, anyway. But he was surfing, and having a great time. He could feel the breeze in his face and his shoulders moving with theâ€¦

â€œWake up, Crewman.â€

Wake up? 

â€œDo something, Dottor Floss!â€

Dottor Floss? 

â€œNo need to fan him or shake his shoulder, Chef. Heâ€™ll be all right, not to worry. Just like the others. The injection I gave him is already starting to work.â€

Injection? Manettiâ€™s eyes flew open. Two faces hovered above him. One cheerful, one grim.

â€œWelcome back, Crewman,â€ Phlox said, as he and Chef put supporting hands behind his back to help him sit up from his supine position. â€œJust breathe in deeply a couple of times,â€ he added in his carefree voice.

â€œWhat happened?â€ Manetti breathed out, after he had breathed in as instructed. He looked around him. They were in the Captainâ€™s mess; a few memories peeked into his brain and he immediately felt like shooing them away. The buggers were too insistent, though. As he began to remember, many things were still fuzzy but one was quite clear: egg recipes were no winners today.

Phlox was speaking, and Manetti tried to concentrate on his words.

â€œThose aliens stunned us â€“ you, Subcommander Tâ€™Pol, Crewman MÃ¼ller and I,â€ Phlox was saying. 

â€œDoctor,â€ a familiar female voice interrupted. Subcommander Tâ€™Pol appeared on the messâ€™s threshold. â€œWe have a hostage situation. The Captain, Ensign Sato and the four Naatians are in the Armoury.â€ For once she looked almost preoccupied.

MÃ¼ller, who had been sitting â€“ or, rather, slumping â€“ on a chair, looking quite pale, revived immediately at the words. â€œHostages? The Armoury?â€ He jumped to his feet, fixing eyes that were wide with horror on the Subcommander. â€œWe must do something!â€ 

â€œI am fully aware of that, Ensign,â€ Tâ€™Pol replied while her eyebrows dashed up. Her calm tone of voice made MÃ¼llerâ€™s words sound like the outburst of a madman.

The security man looked blank for a long moment; then a glint entered his eyes and he said, â€œI could try to reach the Armoury through the access tube.â€

â€œEnsign, we cannot risk the lives of the Captain and Ensign Sato: how confident are you that gaining entrance into the Armoury through the access tube will go unnoticed by the Naatians?â€ Tâ€™Pol asked MÃ¼ller in a low voice that held a note of tension. 

MÃ¼ller took his time to reply. The last thing he wanted was to botch a rescue attempt and end up with lives on his conscience. One of them that of their Captain. 

â€œThe access tube is on the higher level of the Armoury,â€ he reasoned. â€œThose aliens are probably busy on the lower level studying and downloading information on our tactical systems. I believe we can do it,â€ he answered truthfully. â€œAs for rescuing the hostages,â€ he added, just as sincerely, â€œIt will depend on what we find. But we can always slip away undetected, if I see the situation is too touchy.â€

He stood straight under the scrutiny of Tâ€™Polâ€™s slightly apprehensive eyes. 

â€œAgreed,â€ the Subcommander eventually said, crossing her arms over her chest. â€œHow many men do you deem appropriate to take with you?â€

â€œOne will be enough, Maâ€™am,â€ MÃ¼ller answered without hesitation. â€œWe must minimize the noise. And two against four makes the odds more than acceptable.â€ 

â€œGet prepared,â€ Tâ€™Pol told him quietly with a nod.

Â§Â§Â§

Malcolm was shivering badly. Something must be wrong with the shipâ€™s environmental system, for it was bloody cold. Eyes closed, he listened to his breathing, which was raspy, and wondered when he had last felt so rotten. 

â€œLet it snow, let it snow, let it snowâ€¦â€

Heart pounding, Malcolm jerked awake. He wasnâ€™t on Enterpriseâ€¦They werenâ€™t on Enterpriseâ€¦ They were on that planet, Trip was on a singing spree, he himself had been injured and had been planting distress flares at the mouth of that cave toâ€¦ He looked around: he was slumped against the cave wallâ€¦ he must have passed out. 

Blinking a few times to clear his mind more than his sight, he tried to straighten up and found that his movements were hindered. He glanced down and realized why: his left arm was in a sling. His injury had been dressed, and he had probably been given a shot, for he was in very little pain. Trip must be getting back to norm...

â€œOh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful, and since weâ€™ve no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.â€

Never mindâ€¦ Teeth chattering uncontrollably, Malcolm took stock of the situation. A thermal blanket had been wrapped around him, but he was still bloody cold: undoubtedly a consequence of his being ill and injured. Tripâ€™s new tune, howeverâ€¦ Ah, no, couldnâ€™t beâ€¦ He turned to the caveâ€™s mouth and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets: it was snowing! Just how long had he been out? Tâ€™Pol had said temperatures dropped at night. The flares planted at the mouth of the cave prevented him from seeing well, but the natural light filtering inside seemed indeed to be very dim. And the fact that it was snowing lightly meant the bad weather was beginningâ€¦

â€œHey, Malcolm,â€ Trip greeted him cheerfully from a few meters away, poking a small fire he had built, God knows how. â€œSleep well?â€ He too was wrapped in a thermal blanket. 

Malcolm pushed to a sitting position and pulled the blanked as tightly as he could around himself, shivers racking his body. â€œThose crâ€¦creatures,â€ he managed, in a shaky voice. â€œAre thâ€¦they still thâ€¦there?â€ But Tripâ€™s singing soared over his stuttering. 

â€œIt doesnâ€™t show sign of stopping, and Iâ€™ve bought some corn for poppingâ€¦â€ Trip broke off for a brief smirk. â€œWish I had,â€ he said. â€œThe lights are turned way down low, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.â€

â€œTrip,â€ Malcolm called, cursing his friendâ€™s state and his own weak voice. Hell, this was going from bad to worse, he mulled, trying to clamp down on his concern, which risked mounting at exponential speed. â€œTâ€¦Trip,â€ he shrieked, fighting against his shivers and his wheezing. His friend stopped poking the fire and turned to him.

â€œWo...would you mind g...giving me another thâ€¦thermal bâ€¦blanket?â€ 

â€œYa still cold?â€ Trip asked in surprise. â€œJee, Mal, ya shakinâ€™ like a leaf!â€ Trip got up and went to rummage inside a backpack. â€œYou oughtta come nearer to the fire. Here ya go,â€ he said a moment later, spreading another blanket around Malcolmâ€™s shoulders and patting them fatherly-like. 

â€œThâ€¦thanks,â€ Malcolm mumbled, pulling the second blanket tightly around him, right on top of the first. He slowly dragged his numb body towards the fire like the man in the desert clawing his way towards the oasis, and as he inched towards it he could feel the warmth rising gradually. Where on earth had Trip found the wood to build a fire? There had been none inside the cave. Perhaps those creatures had gone away. 

As he warmed up the world started to spin, so Malcolm spent the next few minutes very still: he had to figure out a way to get them out of there, and that was probably best done when he could actually get things to stop moving and locate the exit. Of course it would have helped if Trip had given him a little peace and quiet, but the man was still going strong. He had to admit, though: his friend had an uncanny way of finding songs that suited their circumstances. What in the world had happened to him? He must be having a reaction to something on the planet too.

Finally Malcolmâ€™s shivering subsided, and with it also his dizziness. Perhaps now he would be able to speak and make sense. His breathing was still a little short and wheezy, but at least it didnâ€™t seem to be getting worse. Good thing, because his life-saving spray was almost empty. 

â€œThose creatures,â€ Malcolm repeated weakly, taking advantage of a pause in his friendâ€™s vocal performance. â€œAre they still out there?â€ 

A glint of amusement crossed Tripâ€™s eyes. â€œWhat, ya mean the nice doggies?â€ he asked lightly.

â€œI wouldnâ€™t define them quite like that,â€ Malcolm panted, meaningfully raising the arm that was in a sling. â€œThey are out there because they intend to make a quick snack of us.â€ He didnâ€™t know why he was trying to make a conversation. Trip was obviously in no condition to hold one â€“ at least not one that made sense. Perhaps because he didnâ€™t like to feel so â€˜aloneâ€™ in this; or he hoped Trip would miraculously snap out of whatever it was he was in.

â€œNot any more,â€ Trip sing-sang. 

â€œThey went away?â€ Malcolm hoped against all hope this was what Trip meant.

Trip got the canteen and put it to his lips, and Malcolm bit back a warning shout, almost reaching out to stop him as if it had been a bottle of Scotch. Good grief, he was getting paranoid â€“ this time he truly was. When Trip had finished drinking, Malcolm held out his hand and took a few long gulps from the flask too. 

â€œNope,â€ Trip replied.

Malcolm frowned. â€œNope what?â€ he asked, his voice rising. â€œFor heavenâ€™s sake, Trip, try to make sense!â€ he cried out in frustration.

â€œNope they didnâ€™t go away and nope they donâ€™t wanna make a snack of us any more.â€ Trip shrugged. â€œThe poor things were hungry, so I fed â€™em. I was right, Loo-tenant. Was a good idea to carry some extra food along.â€ He showed Malcolm the empty wrappings of more than a few ratio packs. 

Malcolm closed his eyes tightly; the notion that while he was out cold Trip had fed a pack of famished predators as if they were family pooches was making him dizzy again. He made an effort to remain calm, because worrying wouldnâ€™t help his already laboured breathing. 

â€œTheyâ€™re still around, then?â€ he finally forced himself to ask, watching his friend.

â€œSleepinâ€™ like well-fed babies,â€ Trip answered with a wide grin. Then he turned to the fire again. â€œThe snow is snowinâ€™, and the wind is blowinâ€™, but I can weather the stoooormâ€¦ What do I care how much it may stormâ€¦â€

Ella Fitzgerald. Anything older and it would be Gregorian chant. He could only hope Trip would not act out on the song; dancing cheek to cheek had been a wild enough experience, thank you. 

â€œIâ€™ve got my looove to keep me warmâ€¦â€

Sighing, Malcolm leaned his forehead on his raised knees and closed his eyes again, trying to gather enough energy to get up and check if Trip had told him the truth. He didnâ€™t dare hope the nice doggies were actually taking a nap. 

Â§Â§Â§

â€œOh no, no, no!â€ Chef wailed, grabbing his hair with both hands. His eyes were fixed on two glass jars, both filled with a white powdery substance, standing neatly with others in a corner of his galley counter.

Chef felt incapable of moving. But he had to know. He let go of his hair and reached out with a trembling hand to pick one of them up as if it had been a bomb ready to explode. Unscrewing its lid, he brought it to his nose and sniffed it lightly. He closed his eyes tightly, then cracked them open again and grabbed the other jar, smelling its contents too.

â€œOh, no, no, no,â€ he moaned again, collapsing on a nearby chair. â€œQuesta non Ã¨ proprio la mia giornata! Just not my day, no!â€

Â§ 7 Â§

One hand up to stop Crewman Kim, MÃ¼ller paused behind the access tube panel, holding his breath. Not a single, albeit muffled, sound could be heard. Finally remembering to breathe again, he checked the stun setting on his phase pistol, made sure the other security man was ready, steeled himself and gently pushed on the panel. 

So far so good, MÃ¼ller thought in relief, when the panel gave way without much of a sound. Opening it, he spied the elevated platform: he would have to take a few steps to be able to see what was going on below.

Silence reigned supreme, and MÃ¼ller wondered briefly if the Subcommander had not been mistaken: perhaps the Naatians were no longer here, perhaps they had taken the hostages somewhere else. Althoughâ€¦ there was a soft noise, now that his ears were becoming accustomed to this eerie silence. It almost sounded likeâ€¦

MÃ¼ller crouched; then, signalling his man to follow him quietly, inched ahead, phase pistol at the ready. When he was in position, he risked a quick glance below. He saw one of the aliens bent over a pile of rubble, and jerked back, afraid to be spotted. His heart was racing, pumping adrenaline through his system. Another rapid glance, and he located the Captain and Sato sitting in a removed corner. No one was guarding them. He felt he could act. Raising his hand, he signalled Kim again, nodding and showing three fingers. Taking a steadying breath, he started the countdown. 

They sprang up in perfect synchrony, arms outstretched and all senses on the alert. 

â€œKreuz, Birnbaum und Hollerstauden!â€ 

The vernacular curse had escaped MÃ¼llerâ€™s lips after a few seconds of stunned silence. â€œSir?â€ Kim asked in disbelief â€“ and it wasnâ€™t clear if he wanted instructions or a translation. 

Not that MÃ¼ller could give him one: the curse was untranslatable. But even if it hadnâ€™t been, he wasnâ€™t sure he could find his voice. The Armoury was littered with rubble; not simple rubble, it looked likeâ€¦ pieces of phase cannon? Yes, those under that Naatian â€“ the one who had seemed bent but was in fact lying face down â€“ were indeed pieces of phase cannon. Another Naatian was draped over Reedâ€™s console; a third one was slumped next to a pile of disassembled phase pistols. 

MÃ¼ller frantically scanned the rest of the room. Where the hell was the forth one? A sudden noise made them turn, and they aimed their pistols in its direction. The forth alien appeared at the open hatch of the cannon housing, a piece of tubing in his hands. He leaned out, blinked, and collapsed across it, the tubing crashing loudly to the ground.

It was then that a loud snore made them turn again, to where the Captain and Hoshi lay leaning against each other, apparently fast asleep.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œSubcommander,â€ Phlox said grimly, stepping onto the bridge with Chef. â€œI need to speak to you.â€

Tâ€™Pol almost sighed. â€œDoctor, this is not the best moment. I have a security detail stationed outside the Armoury and am expecting Ensign MÃ¼ller to contact me at any time, with news of his rescue attempt.â€

â€œYou need to hear this, Tâ€™Pol,â€ Phlox insisted. Having got the Subcommanderâ€™s attention he asked, â€œAre you acquainted with Trinacular seaweed?â€ 

Tâ€™Pol frowned imperceptibly â€œItâ€™s a spice used on Denobula,â€ she answered.

Phlox nodded. â€œItâ€™s found in many recipes,â€ he said lightly. â€œItâ€™s quite delicious sprinkled on fresh leeches, for example.â€ Quickly sobering his tone, he added, â€œI believe you also know of its soporific effects on some speciesâ€™ physiologyâ€¦humans for example.â€

â€œYour point, Doctor,â€ Tâ€™Pol said levelly.

â€œChef made a very special soup, so to speak. He used my Trinacular seaweed powder mistaking it for salt.â€

â€œEâ€™ incredibile,â€ Chef moaned, despair in his voice. â€œHow could I? I keep the Doctorâ€™s spices well separated from the others, but this morning I was looking for something and moving the jars around. I must have mixed them upâ€¦â€ 

Tâ€™Pol studied Chef then asked, â€œAre you referring to the asparagus soup we ate, Doctor?â€ 

Phlox sighed, raising his eyebrows. â€œAnd have you ever heard of Thalassian sweet root?â€

â€œItâ€™s a sweetener,â€ Tâ€™Pol said thoughtfully. â€œAt least for Denobulansâ€¦â€ she added.

â€œChef also made some very special pecan pie.â€

Tâ€™Polâ€™s eyes seemed to grow larger. â€œThe Commander and Lieutenant were scheduled to have completed their mission and docked more than two hours ago,â€ she said, raising her eyebrows in a silent enquiry. 

Phlox looked back at her in concern. He exchanged a glance with Chef, who looked distraught. â€œThat doesnâ€™t necessarily mean thatâ€¦ Have you tried to contact them?â€

Tâ€™Pol tilted her head. â€œNaturally. But the approaching storms are creating interference. 

Chef buried his face in his hands.

â€œMÃ¼ller to Subcommander Tâ€™Polâ€¦â€

Â§Â§Â§

Fighting was part of his job description. But as he fought to keep upright, keep expanding his lungs, keep warm enough to actually move, and keep Trip pointed in the right direction, Malcolm wished he had followed his Auntâ€™s advice and become a university professor. Right now heâ€™d be sitting at his desk, lecturing a bunch of bleary-eyed students, instead of risking becoming this planetâ€™s Iceman mummy. 

It had been only a forty-five minute walk from the shuttlepod to the cave, but things had changed pretty drastically since their way in. Now they were in the middle of a snowstorm, in the dim light of evening and in freezing temperatures. Visibility was close to zero, and he had to rely on his scanner to keep them on the right track. He didnâ€™t fancy ending up walking blindly into that lake â€“ or even that pond â€“ they had skirted on their way in. 

When Malcolm had finally managed to drag himself upright in that cave, and had gone to see for himself what awaited them outside it, he had been fully prepared to fight off another attack of those creatures. He had taken a tentative peek beyond the flares that protected them, and had been astonished to see them gone. If they were anything like animals on Earth, they had probably sensed the bad weather coming and retreated into their dens. On a full stomach, given the amount of food Trip had fed them.

Speaking of Tripâ€¦ Malcolm had grabbed him by one arm, and was dragging him along as they stumbled forward. Narrowing his eyes against the swirling snow, Malcolm turned to look at him, trying to read the expression on his friendâ€™s face. Trip had stopped singing, which, if anything, was adding to Malcolmâ€™s concern: he couldnâ€™t deny it was a blessing, but his pessimistic nature had begun to take it as a sign that Tripâ€™s condition might be worsening. He prayed it wouldnâ€™t be, for his own condition was worrisome enough. Especially his allergic reaction: his emergency spray had run out of whatever miracle drug it contained, and he was gulping in oxygen in difficult gasps and didnâ€™t know if he actually had it in him to get them back to the shuttlepod and to safety. If only he could contact Enterpriseâ€¦ but the weather was blocking communication.

The freshly-fallen snow was slippery, and Malcolm suddenly lost his footing and tumbled to the ground, carrying his friend with him. He just lay there, fighting to get air into his lungs. He knew he had to get up, but his energy was seeping out of him like sand out of a bag with a hole in it. He was numb with cold and with pain â€“ his injury having decided it would be a shame not to add to his miseries â€“ and his hands were icicles. If Trip had been more of a Pavarotti, this, undoubtedly, would be the time for Che gelida manina â€“ although knowing Trip heâ€™d probably sing some obnoxious translation, â€˜Damn, but your hand is ice-coldâ€™ or â€˜Sheesh, your hand is freezingâ€™. An image of Trip as Rodolfo from La BohÃ¨me, kneeling in front of him holding his hand formed in Malcolmâ€™s mind, but instead of amusement he felt a painful lump form in his throat. He turned with an effort to check on his friend: Trip was on all four, shivering, his head hanging down low between his shoulders. 

â€œTrip,â€ he wheezed out weakly. He didnâ€™t even know why. A waste of precious breath, really, for even if heâ€™d had anything to tell him, there was no chance heâ€™d be heard in this wind. But he did have something to tell him, didnâ€™t he. Iâ€™m sorry, he whispered to him silently in his mind. 

Incredibly, Trip raised his head and looked at him, eyes wild. â€œWhat the hell is goinâ€™ on?â€ he shouted, his voice wavering with the shivers that were racking him. 

Malcolm wanted to answer, but his voice was AWOL. He just stared at him through eyes that were mere slits, curled up on himself, his breath hitching, feeling bloody exhausted, and frustrated and angry at himself for letting this happen, and sad that it was to end like this, andâ€¦ his eyelids were so damn heavy. There just wasnâ€™t enough energy left in him, the bag was empty.

â€œMalcolm!â€ 

Â§Â§Â§

â€œYou mean to tell me they felt threatened by a plate of omelettes?â€ 

Archer pinned Tâ€™Pol with his green eyes. He wanted to make no mistakes about this. He knew his tone was thick with some strong emotion that would undoubtedly rub his Vulcan SIC the wrong way, but this was a bit too much.

â€œYellow omelettes,â€ Tâ€™Pol specified calmly, as if it was privileged information.

â€œAh, yeah, well, Tâ€™Pol: I donâ€™t know what colour omelettes are on Vulcan, but on Earth yellow is the hue omelettes generally come in,â€ Archer replied through gritted teeth.

â€œThat isâ€¦ unfortunate,â€ Tâ€™Pol said, raising her eyebrows. Her expression held --- Archer wondered what it was, it looked like a pang of something, but of course it couldnâ€™t be guilt or shame, this being a Vulcan. 

They were in sickbay. Archer was sitting on a biobed, his legs dangling, and Phlox was hovering around taking readings from him and Hoshi, who was lying on a bed still looking a bit dazed after being brought back to consciousness by the Doctor. 

After a moment of stunned silence, Archer broke into a tense smile that held no mirth whatsoever. â€œWould you be so kind as to explain yourself, Subcommander?â€

â€œNaatians place a lot of meaning on colour,â€ Tâ€™Pol began. â€œItâ€™s part of their way to communicate.â€ She raised one eyebrow. â€œAs you may have noticed.â€

â€œIt wouldâ€™ve been hard to miss,â€ Archer muttered darkly.

Standing with legs slightly apart, Tâ€™Pol put her arms behind her back. â€œApparently yellow, in Naatian culture, is the colour of war and aggression; of open challenge. In their way of thinking, being served yellow food was tantamount to being threatened, Captain. Logically, they reacted and took measures to incapacitate Enterpriseâ€™s dangerousness.â€

â€œLogically,â€ Archer repeated dryly.

Tâ€™Pol briefly averted her eyes in a very uncharacteristic gesture, and Archer narrowed his, studying her more closely. â€œWhy do I get the feeling that we ought to have known about this?â€ he asked, trying to keep his voice level. 

â€œThe Naatians sent us information on their culture,â€ Tâ€™Pol said, after a small, uncomfortable pause. 

â€œBut you warned us about what to do and not to do in their presence,â€ Archer countered, with a suspicious frown. 

â€œIndeed. Howeverâ€¦â€

â€œTâ€™Pol?â€ Archer prompted, cringing inside.

â€œWhen the data gathered by those mind-melders was run into the translation matrix a mistake occurred... in the section dealing with â€˜behaviours to be avoidedâ€™.â€ She looked at Archer. â€œAnd I didnâ€™t recognise it.â€

â€œGo on.â€

â€œThere was a list of things, Captain,â€ Tâ€™Pol said levelly, her eyebrows shooting up again. â€œYell,â€ she paused briefly for stress, â€œWas one of them.â€

â€œOh.â€ Archer stared at his SIC. This could not be. Words spoken just hours before in his ready room echoed in his mind - You never know when something might go wrongâ€¦ Perhaps he really ought to start taking Malcolmâ€™s paranoia a bit more seriously.

â€œIt was a regrettable error,â€ Tâ€™Pol said. â€œI apologise for not being able to detect it right away,â€ she added quietly. â€œAfter the incident I analysed the data more carefully and found it.â€

Archerâ€™s irritation began to melt away. â€œNo one is perfect,â€ he told his contrite â€“ he secretly smiled at the notion â€“ Science Officer. 

â€œWhere are the Naatians now?â€ he asked.

â€œAh, Captain,â€ Phlox butted in cheerfully, â€œWe put them in the decon chamber. They are still under the effect of Trinacular seaweed: sound asleep.â€

â€œThis seaweed of yours, Doc,â€ Archer enquired hesitantly. â€œIt isnâ€™t harmful to them, is it?â€ 

Phloxâ€™s blue eyes twinkled as his mouth curved up. â€œNot at all, Captain, not at all! I expect them to wake up in about half an hour as refreshed as after a good nightâ€™s sleep,â€ he said cheerfully.

â€œThank God,â€ Archer commented, relief clear in his voice. He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, ready to take command of the situation again. 

â€œGood. Any news from Trip and Malcolm? Are they back yet?â€ 

His mood immediately took another plunge as Tâ€™Pol exchanged a worried glance with Doctor Phlox.

â€œAre you familiar with Thalassian sweet root, Captain?â€ Tâ€™Pol asked quietly.

Â§ 8 Â§  
Trip had never felt so damn cold in his life. And scared. And confused. He could remember virtually nothing between starting on their hike to mine platinum and waking up in a blizzard with Malcolm half-dead at his side. His friend had an arm in a sling and was having difficulty breathing, and Trip was terrified of what he might have done â€“ or rather failed to do â€“ for them to be in this situation.  
Where the hell were they anyway? His last memories were of sweltering heat and sunny weather, and here he was now, on what looked like Andoria in winter. Narrowing his eyes against the blowing snow, he looked around. Something on the ground attracted his attention. A blue light: Malcolmâ€™s scannerâ€¦ it must have fallen out of his hand. He grabbed it and stared at it in confusion: this was the very same planet, andâ€¦ His heart jumped in his throat: that was their Shuttlepod, no further than a couple hundred meters away! He would have never known, without the instrument, in this damn visibility. He had to get them to it.  
â€œMalcolm!â€  
Trip shook Malcolmâ€™s shoulder, oblivious of his injury. He realised it too late, or perhaps was desperate enough to resort even to pain to revive him. Malcolm moaned, and Trip immediately regretted his callousness. But his friendâ€™s eyes cracked open, and that alone was enough to light up a flame of hope in Tripâ€™s heart.  
â€œCome on,â€ he said, forcing his numb and trembling limbs to cooperate. He started to pick Malcolm up. â€œThe Shuttlepod is not far away.â€  
â€œTâ€¦Trip?â€ Malcolm wheezed out through his own shivers. He sounded baffled. As if he hadnâ€™t expected Trip to be there with him.  
â€œCome on,â€ Trip repeated, heaving Malcolm up. â€œIâ€™ll carry most of your weight, but give me a hand, ok?â€ For a moment it was like trying to get a rag doll to stand, but then Malcolmâ€™s pride/stubbornness/will power kicked in and they began to make their wobbling and difficult way to safety.  
Â§Â§Â§  
â€œTry again, Hoshi,â€ Archer said tautly. He wished he could rewind time back to breakfast.  
Hoshi was still a bit pale but looked the picture of concentration as she pressed on her earpiece; and if anybody was able to pick up the faintest sound, it was her. After a moment, however, she looked at her Captain, brow slightly knitted. â€œIâ€™m sorry, Sir.â€  
Archer pursed his lips; then touched Mayweatherâ€™s shoulder. â€œPrep Shuttlepod two, Travis.â€  
â€œCaptain,â€ Tâ€™Pol argued. â€œThe weather conditions on the Northern continent are only going to get worse.â€  
â€œThatâ€™s why we need to act now,â€ Archer countered firmly. â€œYou have theâ€¦â€  
â€œCaptain, Iâ€™m reading a power signature.â€ There was barely restrained emotion in MÃ¼llerâ€™s voice, at tactical. â€œI believe Shuttlepod one is being powered up.â€  
â€œBelieve?â€ Archer didnâ€™t want to take any chances. Heâ€™d go down to the damn planet himself, if necessary, but heâ€™d bring Trip and Malcolm back to Enterprise.  
â€œIt is, Sir. I am positive of it.â€  
â€œConfirmed,â€ Tâ€™Pol added from her science console.  
Â§Â§Â§  
â€œWhatâ€™s wrong with your breathinâ€™?â€ Trip asked, worry etched on his face.  
They had just made it to the pod, and as soon as the hatch had been closed Malcolm had collapsed on a bench, blue from lack of oxygen and looking ready to pass out.  
â€œAllergy,â€ Malcolm wheezed out weakly, his body shaking convulsively. His face scrunched up as he fought to draw breath. â€œSprayâ€¦ medkitâ€¦â€  
Trip jumped up and stumbled as fast as his stiff limbs would carry him to the right compartment, cursing his numb and trembling hands as they fumbled with the latch.  
A moment later he was helping Malcolm bring his shivering hand and the spray to his mouth. â€œSheesh, your hands are freezing,â€ he exclaimed. Malcolm's eyes flashed open and an odd expression crossed them. â€œI know,â€ he added. â€œStupid thing to say.â€  
Soon Malcolm was breathing much more easily, and Trip rushed to power up the pod and turned the heating to full blast. It wouldnâ€™t take long before they began to feel some warmth in their bones again.  
Trip sank on the bench opposite Malcolmâ€™s, leaned his head back and closed his eyes, wanting to get his trembling under control. He listened to his friend avidly sucking in air. The pod was being rocked by gusts of wind, and Trip knew that the sooner he got them out of there, the better. So after a couple of minutes he fought his exhaustion and began to stand.  
Malcolmâ€™s wavering voice broke the silence. â€œYou all right?â€ It was barely above a whisper, but it carried some rather strong emotion.  
Trip looked at him, puzzled. â€œI think thatâ€™s actually what I should be asking you,â€ he said with a mirthless huff. â€œSeems youâ€™re the one whoâ€™s worse off.â€  
Another gust rocked them, and Trip didnâ€™t wait for an answer. He sat in the pilotâ€™s seat and his expert fingers began to go through a quick pre-flight check.  
It wasnâ€™t long before his peripheral vision saw Malcolm stumble to the seat next to his. He glanced at him briefly. He looked terrible, but no point telling him; Trip was pretty sure his friend knew as much and wouldnâ€™t appreciate hearing it.  
Finally everything was ready for take off. Trip fired up the thrusters and the pod lifted off the ground. As they soared away from what had nearly turned into their final resting place, Trip felt joy and relief swell within him.  
â€œHallelujah! Hallelujah!â€  
He turned to Malcolm with a smile. â€œIsnâ€™t that Hand-something?â€  
â€œHandel,â€ Malcolm muttered back. He was looking at him askance, his grey eyes definitely wary.  
â€œWhat?â€ Trip asked with a frown. â€œDonâ€™t you like classical music?â€  
Â§Â§Â§  
The light turned red, signalling that the airlock had depressurised again, and Archer slowly deflated, his shoulders slumping. The Naatians had boarded their pod. In a few minutes theyâ€™d be leaving. Archer felt ten years older. Or perhaps just in need of a good, long night of sleep.  
Although in the end they had managed to understand each other â€“ â€˜understand the misunderstandingâ€™, as it were â€“ and had patched things up, he wasnâ€™t looking forward to writing his report to Starfleet on this particular first contact.  
Now all he wanted was to know that Shuttlepod One had docked, and make sure Trip and Malcolm were fine â€“ when he had hailed them some ten minutes before Trip had kept their conversation vague and short, which had worried him slightly. Then he could call it a day. And what a day it had been.  
He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didnâ€™t notice Tâ€™Polâ€™s searching eyes on him until she spoke, bringing him back to the present.  
â€œAre you all right, Captain?â€  
â€œUh, yeah,â€ he replied awkwardly. â€œJust a littleâ€¦ tired.â€ He smiled tautly.  
â€œIt is quite logical,â€ she commented predictably.  
Archer was getting a bit tired of that word. Especially since nothing seemed to have been particularly logical that day. Tâ€™Polâ€™s tone, however, hadnâ€™t been a lecturing one and he decided to read a hint of concern in it. He liked that.  
â€œChef commed while you were talking to Commander Tucker,â€ Tâ€™Pol added after a moment.  
â€œReally?â€ Archer asked dryly. â€œWhat did he want â€“ invite us to a sampling of Denobulan cuisine?â€ Well, the day had been tense enough; he was entitled to being a little short-tempered.  
Tâ€™Pol looked at him blankly. â€œHe didnâ€™t mention that.â€  
â€œJust joking, Tâ€™Pol,â€ Archer explained. â€œWhat did he want, then?â€ he asked again, even though he had a fairly good idea.  
â€œTo know if the Commander and Lieutenant had returned. He sounded concerned.â€  
â€œHe ought to be,â€ Archer bit back. He sighed. He knew he wasnâ€™t being very fair to Chef: the man had carried out his duties impeccably up to now and...  
Just then the comm. link sounded. â€œPhlox to Captain Archer.â€  
What now? Archer walked to it and pressed the button to answer the hail. â€œYes, Doc.â€  
â€œCaptain, I thought you should know that Chef has come down with the flu. Iâ€™m afraid youâ€™ll have to do without his services for a few days at least,â€ Phlox informed him.  
â€œThe flu? How on earth did he get it?â€ Archer blurted out. â€œNever mind,â€ he hurried to add, dreading a lengthy Phlox explanation â€“ he just wasnâ€™t up to one now. As the news sank in, he thought with a hint of wickedness that at least theyâ€™d be safe from treacherous foodstuff for a while.  
â€œCaptain,â€ Phlox continued, â€œYou do realise that this was almost certainly the cause of Chefâ€™s uncharacteristic distraction.â€  
Archer sighed again. Chef had messed up big today, beginning with his breakfast eggs, but then he had also saved the day. He couldnâ€™t deny that the manâ€™s revised Asparagus Soup had worked out better than Malcolmâ€™s stun grenades â€“ just as incapacitating but less destructive. He felt a twinge of regret for having been angry at him. Poor Chef. After all, it seemed they all had something to be forgiven for: Chef, Tâ€™Pol; even himself, for treating Malcolm as a paranoid maniac.  
â€œPlease, Phlox, give Chef my best wishes and tell him not to worry,â€ he said into the comm. link. â€œWe will manage for a few days without him. And donâ€™t forget to tell him that Iâ€™m not mad at him.â€ Hell, Starfleet might even give him a medal, he thought with a touch of amusement.  
â€œCertainly, Captain,â€ Phloxâ€™s cheerful voice replied.  
Â§Â§Â§  
As Shuttlepod One flew towards the extended docking arm, another vessel detached itself from one of Enterpriseâ€™s docking ports. Malcolm peered at it through the windshield and smirked.  
â€œLooks like we just missed our guests,â€ he said. Not that he could care any less at the moment. Thanks to the spray he was breathing better again, but he was knackered and aching and probably feverish and only happy they were back, both alive andâ€¦ almost well. Besides, if that alien pod was flying away undisturbed it meant things had gone smoothly in this first contact after all. He felt a pang of conscience at the thought of what a hard time he had given Captain Archer before leaving on their mission. Perhaps he should tone down his paranoia a little.  
â€œFeelinâ€™ bad about it?â€ Trip asked him, his eyes never leaving the commands.  
â€œNot in the least. Enterprise is in one piece, thatâ€™s the important thing,â€ Malcolm replied truthfully.  
Thankfully Handelâ€™s little excerpt had been a false alarm, and to Malcolmâ€™s relief Trip seemed to have stopped turning their mission into a musical. He was also more than grateful the Engineer had taken charge and piloted the pod without asking for his assistance. He would have probably crashed them back onto the planet had he tried to help. Still, Trip looked pale and exhausted, and their flight back had been carried out in weary silence.  
Suddenly Malcolm couldnâ€™t hold back a yawn.  
â€œYou canâ€™t go to sleep before tellinâ€™ me what the hell happened on that planet,â€ Trip said with a forced chuckle. He sounded a bit nervous.  
A â€˜clonkâ€™ signalled the docking arm had engaged.  
Malcolm rubbed his eyes. â€œNot now, Trip,â€ he replied tiredly. â€œI am knackered and - besides - I donâ€™t think I have enough breath for it. It will all be in my report, donâ€™t worry.â€  
Trip shot him an anxious glance. â€œYeah, well, I was hopinâ€™ youâ€™d give me at least a clue.â€  
â€œIn few words: it was quiteâ€¦ an experience,â€ Malcolm wheezed out. â€œBut â€“ trust me,â€ he added with a smile, seeing Tripâ€™s worried look. â€œYou were always... in tune with the situation.â€  
Trip now eyed him suspiciously.  
The launchbay doors closed with a familiar sound. Home. They were home. Malcolm relaxed into the back of his seat and closed his eyes.  
â€œBy the way, did we get any platinum?â€ Trip asked.  
â€œNope,â€ Malcolm slurred. Cracking his eyes open again, he added, â€œBut some lucky bloke will find a whole big pile of ore ready to be carried away. Couldnâ€™t leave the charges unexploded â€“ too risky â€“ so I detonated them after we left the cave,â€ he explained.  
Trip looked at him blankly. â€œCave? What cave?â€  
â€œAh, well...â€ Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose. Just then the hatch door was opened from outside.  
â€œTrip, Malcolm. Itâ€™s good to have you back.â€ Malcolm watched Archerâ€™s concerned face appear. The Captain looked at Trip; then his eyes fell on Malcolmâ€™s sling. â€œWhat happened to your arm?â€ he asked with a frown.  
Malcolm saw Tripâ€™s unease go up a few notches and suddenly felt bad about keeping him in the dark. It must feel awkward for the Officer in command of the mission not to remember anything about it.  
â€œThe... fauna,â€ Malcolm mumbled, slowly scrambling to his feet but keeping a hand on the back of his seat. He didnâ€™t trust his balance.  
â€œExcuse me, Captain,â€ a well-known voice butted in, and Doctor Phlox climbed inside the pod and studied them both with a professional eye before raising his tricorder to get a few readings off them.  
â€œGood to see ya too, Captâ€™n,â€ Trip said hesitantly.  
â€œUh, Trip, you ok?â€ Archer asked, studying his Chief Engineer closely.  
Malcolm frowned. Why was the Captain eyeing Trip as if he had sprouted Andorian antennae or something?  
â€œYeah,â€ Trip replied diffidently, taking a half step back from the scrutiny.  
Malcolm took pity on his friend and diverted Archerâ€™s attention to himself. â€œWe saw the alien pod leave,â€ he mumbled â€“ thinking and/or speaking clearly was beyond his capabilities right now. The Doctor passed his medical scanner up and down his body, stopping with a frown at lung level, and watched him warily. Malcolm returned the look. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word Phlox had jabbed a hypospray to his neck and discharged its contents into his bloodstream.  
Archer put on a bashful expression. â€œAh, yes. Iâ€™m sorry you ended up missing our guests, Lieutenant.â€  
â€œNot your fault, Sir,â€ Reed replied, wishing they would all give him a rest. â€œWe were... delayed.â€  
â€œWell, how was it?â€ Trip asked Archer bluntly.  
â€œUhm, how can I explain it in few words?â€ Archer said with a faint smile. â€œLetâ€™s put it this way: it was quiteâ€¦ a colourful experience; and not one which was always easy toâ€¦ tone in with.â€  
Malcolm would have laughed at the choice of words, but wanted to conserve his breath. He was also starting to feel more than a little drowsy. He used whatever energy he had left to enquire after security. â€œWith your permission, Sir, I would like to get MÃ¼llerâ€™s report as soon as possible,â€ he said, passing a weary hand through his hair.  
â€œSorry to interrupt, Captain,â€ Phlox cut in, and Malcolmâ€™s brain, from its bed of mothballs, wondered briefly why the expression on Archerâ€™s face looked like one of relief.  
â€œWe need to get the Commander and Lieutenant to the decon chamber and sickbay,â€ Phlox continued. â€œBoth need to change out of these damp uniforms and get looked after. The Lieutenant is suffering from the effects of a rather serious allergic reaction: I gave him an injection and Iâ€™m sure heâ€™s already feeling drowsy from it; plus his injury needs tending. The Commander did indeed ingest some Thalassian sweet root, although its effects seem to have disappeared.â€  
â€œWait a minute â€“ I ingested what?â€ Tripâ€™s eyes widened in alarm.  
â€œThalassian sweet root?â€ Malcolm enquired, fighting to keep his eyes from drooping closed. A nasty suspicion was forming in his mind.  
â€œThe Doc will tell you about it, Trip,â€ Archer said a bit too fast, â€œBut now you better do as he tells you.â€ He shifted his gaze from one to the other. â€œYou both look like you could use some sleep.â€  
Â§ 9 Â§

â€œAny news, Phlox?â€ Archer enquired through the comm. link in his ready room. Seven hours had passed since Trip and Malcolm had returned, and Archer was getting antsy. He wanted to learn about their mission and tell them about what had happened on Enterprise. He didnâ€™t like the idea that Malcolm was still in the dark as to the state of his Armoury.

â€œThey dropped off the moment they were horizontal, Captain,â€ Phlox replied. A chuckle floated out of the comm. link. â€œIn fact, Lieutenant Reed even before.â€ 

â€œHow much longer do you think theyâ€™ll sleep?â€ Archer asked, trying to make it sound like a routine enquiry.

â€œCommander Tucker woke up a half-hour ago. Lieutenant Reed is still resting â€“ indeed a normal reaction to the meds I gave him. But he should re-awaken at any moment.â€ Phlox replied. â€œI was a bit worried about Mr. Reedâ€™s allergy, but he reacted very well to the treatment. I see no reason â€“ no medical reason, that is,â€ he specified in an amused tone of voice, â€œto keep him off duty. I believe he and Mr. Tucker can take the rest of the day off and be back on duty tomorrow.â€

â€œDo me a favour, Doc,â€ Archer said. â€œWould you send Trip up to my ready room? Also Malcolm, when he wakes up.â€

Â§Â§Â§

Ensign MÃ¼ller felt like a policeman directing traffic. Standing in the middle of the Armoury, he waved his arms and barked commands, trying to get the place at least in some kind of order. When he had learnt that his CO had returned to the ship, he had known the dreaded moment of reporting to him had come. Phlox, however, had shooed him out of sickbay, saying Lieutenant Reed was resting and whatever he had to tell him could wait. MÃ¼ller wasnâ€™t sure the Doc had been right â€“ the more he waited, the worse he felt about telling Reed about what had happened on Enterprise â€“ but had been forced to yield. He had returned to the Armoury, where he had decided the best thing for him to do was to get busy and attempt to put things as straight as possible before his CO set foot inside his domain again. 

Kim held out a nondescript piece of metal and looked up from his short height to MÃ¼llerâ€™s meter-ninety-five. â€œAny idea what this is, Ensign?â€ he asked, a hint of despair in his voice.

MÃ¼ller shifted his green eyes down to the object. â€œLooks like a piece of phase cannon.â€

â€œYes, Sir. But which one?â€

â€œCome on, you two,â€ MÃ¼ller prompted a couple of crewmen at the back of the room. â€œYouâ€™re taking way too long. You should be able to put phase pistols back together even in the dark!â€ 

â€œSir?â€ Kim was still standing before him, actually waiting for an answer. MÃ¼llerâ€™s mind was crossed by another untranslatable German curse. 

â€œTry to figure it out, Crewman,â€ he replied with a helpless smirk. â€œIn any case, soon youâ€™ll have some help. I asked Lieutenant Hess to send over a couple of engineers.â€

Kim huffed. â€œWhat would really help would be to be able to bring up the cannonâ€™s schematics,â€ he said in irritation. â€œBut thoseâ€¦ aliens put their delicate eight fingers in every damn system, scrambling everything! Rebuilding the cannon is likeâ€¦ like putting together a giant puzzle without knowing what itâ€™s supposed to represent!â€

MÃ¼ller sighed. â€œLook, if nothing else works, try picturing Lieutenant Reedâ€™s face if he should walk through that door right now. Iâ€™m sure that will help you develop a sudden gift for solving puzzles.â€

Â§Â§Â§

â€œAh, Captâ€™n, if youâ€™re busy I can come back another time,â€ Trip said, peeking anxiously into the ready room.

Archer broke into a quick smile. â€œIf I were busy, I wouldnâ€™t have called you in the first place. Right?â€

â€œUh, yeah, I suppose thatâ€™s true.â€ Trip grinned nervously and stepped in, stopping just inside.

â€œCome on in,â€ Archer said encouragingly. â€œI wonâ€™t charge you for sitting down.â€ He watched as his Chief Engineer took a few gingerly steps. â€œSit,â€ he ordered him outright, feeling as if he was talking to Porthos. Trip went to the nearest chair and sat down obediently.

â€œHow are you feeling?â€ Archer enquired. 

â€œGreat,â€ Trip replied with one of his grins. â€œJust slept for six hours straight.â€ 

â€œYeah, Phlox told me. Still, the Doc wants you and Malcolm to be off duty till tomorrow morning. This wonâ€™t take long. I just want a short verbal report on your mission.â€ 

Trip immediately paled to a disturbing off-white shade, making Archer wince - God, was he sick of seeing peopleâ€™s faces change colour. At least it was not some revolting â€˜rotten leaves greenâ€™ or, God forbid, yellow. 

Archer smiled reassuringly. â€œPhlox commed a minute ago, saying that Malcolm woke up too. He shouldâ€¦â€ Just then his door bell chimed. â€œAh, speak of the devil,â€ Archer said, sending Tripâ€™s blood plunging even more, probably into his toes â€“ the man was now white-white.

â€œCome in.â€

â€œYou wanted to see me, Captain?â€ Malcolm asked in a polite voice. Six and a half hours of sleep, a few meds and a change of uniform, and the man looked more or less his usual pristine self again, if one overlooked the optional extras added: a new sling and dark rings under the eyes. 

â€œI did, Lieutenant. Come in and take a seat.â€ 

â€œThank you, Sir.â€ 

Malcolm walked in like an automaton and took a place beside Trip, nodding sharply to greet him, and Trip responded with an awkward grin. 

Archer regarded his two officers in silence for a few moments. It looked as though they were sitting on eggs: afraid to move lest they break them. For heavenâ€™s sake, letâ€™s not think of eggs, a little voice suggested, and he couldnâ€™t but agree.

â€œYouâ€™ll be off duty until tomorrow morning â€“ Doctorâ€™s orders,â€ Archer finally repeated for Reedâ€™s sake. â€œBut I got his permission to meet you briefly for a report of what happened on your mission. It doesnâ€™t need to be very detailed. You can write a full report later.â€ He looked at Tucker, as the ranking officer. 

Malcolm cast a quick side glance in Tripâ€™s direction and swallowed. Trip seemed to shrink. Archer watched the nervous exchange with a puzzled frown: he didnâ€™t think heâ€™d said anythingâ€¦ but of course! Trip had ingested Thalassian sweet root. Apparently on human physiology it had rather potent intoxicating effects: Trip could probably remember almost nothing of what had happened on the planet.

â€œAh â€“ Lieutenant,â€ Archer said, turning to Reed. â€œI suppose itâ€™s up to you to tell us what happened, since Commander Tucker was under the influence ofâ€¦â€

â€œThalassian sweet root,â€ Trip put in levelly.

Archer smiled tautly.

Malcolm straightened in his chair, looking totally ill-at-ease. â€œYes, Sir,â€ he said quietly. Next to him, Trip was clearly embarrassed but possibly also somewhat curious. 

â€œWe were more than half way there, when weâ€¦â€ Reed trailed. â€œWhen I,â€ he amended, â€œNoticed Commander Tucker was behaving in an uncharacteristic way.â€

Archer cleared his throat. â€œUhm â€“ just how uncharacteristic, Lieutenant?â€

Reed winced slightly, his eyes going to Trip again.

Trip shifted on his seat. â€œAw, hell, Iâ€™m gettingâ€™ tired of this, already,â€ he finally burst out. â€œSpit it out, Lieutenant, and letâ€™s get this over with!â€ 

Â§Â§Â§

â€œEnsign, it is out of the question.â€ Hess crossed her arms over her chest and held the gaze of the tall security man without flinching. â€œI cannot spare any more people. I already sent you two. I have a department to run,â€ she said with quiet determination.

MÃ¼ller stood tall and at attention. â€œYes, Maâ€™am,â€ he replied. â€œItâ€™s that I thought if some of the other engineers who built the cannon in the first place joined forces with our people, we might have a better chance of putting the weapon back together again in a reasonable amount of time.â€

Hessâ€™s eyes softened. She looked around, then lowering her voice said, â€œIâ€™m sorry Bernhard. I know you would like to get that done before Lieutenant Reed sees it, but Iâ€™m afraid that just wonâ€™t be possible.â€

MÃ¼llerâ€™s green eyes didnâ€™t shift from hers. â€œItâ€™s not because Iâ€™m afraid of him,â€ he said. â€œI only wanted to spare the Lieutenant thisâ€¦ sight.â€ He opened his arms to encompass the mess around him. 

Hess smirked, her eyes showing empathy. 

Â§Â§Â§

Trip looked at Malcolm impassively. â€œThatâ€™s it?â€ he asked levelly. 

â€œWhat exactly do you mean, Commander?â€ Reed asked, shifting his eyes briefly away before returning them to Trip. It had been more than enough, as far as he was concerned.

â€œWell, Iâ€™m sorry anâ€™ all for actinâ€™ drunk and screwinâ€™ up the mission; but sheesh, Malcolm! The way you were tiptoinâ€™ around it I thought I hadâ€¦ I dunno, blown up somethinâ€™ orâ€¦ run around in my birthday suit!â€ 

Malcolm winced, and Archer smiled at the mental image of Trip running around in the buff, singing. â€œYour report was very en---lightening, Lieutenant,â€ he commented, faltering on the adjective. 

â€œAw, please Captâ€™n,â€ Trip said, rolling his eyes. â€œYouâ€™re startinâ€™ to sound just like Tâ€™Pol.â€

Malcolm cleared his throat. â€œI believe the Captain was looking for another word,â€ he suggested.

Archer sighed. â€œAll right. I was going to say entertaining,â€ he admitted with a grin. 

â€œWell, in that case I beg to dissent, Sir,â€ Malcolm muttered. â€œOr, rather, my report might have been entertaining, but the actual mission wasnâ€™t.â€

Archer shot him an understanding look. Then he turned to Tucker, his face scrunched up in a funny expression. â€œBut â€“ come on, Trip: George Gershwin? The Beatles? Ella Fitzgerald? Dean Martin? Why not one of those catchy tunes by â€“ whatâ€™s the name of that Starfleet Academy group â€“ theâ€¦ Galactic Harmonies? Something a little less ancient?â€ 

Trip shook his head in disgust. â€œWith all due respect, Captâ€™n, your taste for music ainâ€™t any better than your taste for movies. Those songs are classics!â€

Archer chuckled. After a moment he turned serious again. â€œNo ore then?â€ he asked Reed.

Malcolm pursed his lips. â€œIf the storms clear maybe we can go backâ€¦â€ he suggested. 

â€œWeâ€™ll see,â€ Archer replied noncommittally. He sat up in his chair and leaned his elbows on the desk, joining the tips of his fingers. â€œThere is something else we need to discuss, Lieutenant,â€ he added grimly, steeling for the confession he knew he had to make.

Reed straightened in his seat. â€œCaptain,â€ he said tautly. â€œI understand and want to apologise for the fact that the mission went as it did. I take full responsibility.â€ 

Archer frowned. â€œIt wasnâ€™t your fault if Trip here gobbled down Thalassian-sweet-root pie and gotâ€¦ well, high. I think you handled the situation quite well, Malcolm.â€

Malcolmâ€™s eyes shifted to the floor, then shot up to meet Archerâ€™s again. â€œIâ€¦ ought to have been more cautious,â€ he said in a deep voice. â€œWhen I first recognised the Commander was not himself, and especially when I realised I was developing an allergic reaction, I should have called the mission off.â€ 

Archer felt something inside clench. Had the word cautious given him a twinge of guilt? No, no. 

â€œAw, come on, Malcolm,â€ Trip butted in, his ebullient character bursting through. â€œStop beatinâ€™ yourself up. Things just went wrong. Thatâ€™s all.â€

Malcolm shook his head. â€œBut thatâ€™s just it. I should have taken into account that things might go wrong.â€ 

â€œI think youâ€™re being too hard on yourself, Lieutenant,â€ Archer soothed. â€œYou canâ€™t really be blamed for trying to complete your mission. After all, you were almost at the mining site. And you werenâ€™t well yourself: your allergy might have impaired your judgment.â€ He studied his men. These two could get into the most incredible situations and still come out of them more or less in one piece; undoubtedly because they worked so well as a team. 

â€œYou two looked out after each other on that planet,â€ Archer added. â€œAnd I am proud of you, even if you didnâ€™t bring back any ore.â€ He smiled his fatherly smile. 

â€œIâ€™m glad at least things went well up here, Sir,â€ Reed said, in a slightly more cheerful voice. â€œWere the Naatians friendly?â€

Archer blinked. The moment had come. â€œAh, friendly, well, yes, I suppose that all things consideredâ€¦ one could say that.â€ 

He stopped to collect his thoughts; before he could add anything else, Malcolm went on, â€œI imagine you gave them a tour of the ship; and of course didnâ€™t let them inside the Armouryâ€¦â€ 

â€œLet them inside the Armoury?â€ Archer felt his mouth go dry. â€œWell I didnâ€™t let them inside the Armoury, noâ€¦â€

â€œNot that I thought you had, Captain,â€ Malcolm hurried to reassure him. â€œAnd to think I gave you such a hard time,â€ Reed muttered grimly, â€œYet I was the one who managed to disregard caution this time.â€

A knot formed in Archerâ€™s gut. â€œUh, forget it, Malcolm,â€ he said with a nervous grin. â€œNobodyâ€™s perfect.â€ He had to make the confession now, before he lost the courage. â€œAs a matter of factâ€¦â€

Just then the comm. link chirped.

â€œArcher.â€ 

The resonant voice of Malcolmâ€™s SIC floated out. â€œEnsign MÃ¼ller. Captain, I just wanted to inform you that the port cannon wonâ€™t be completely re-built for a while yet. Lieutenant Hess sent up a couple of engineers, but we canâ€™t even bring up the schematics, you seeâ€¦â€

Archer cringed. He saw Malcolmâ€™s brow furrow. â€œAh, yes, thank you, Ensign...â€ he cut in, trying to end the embarrassing communication. Before he could put in another word, though, MÃ¼ller continued. 

â€œThose Naatians did a pretty thorough job of messing things up. Targeting sensors were totally scrambled â€“ but at least they are almost re-aligned again.â€

Archer winced. Reed seemed frozen, his jaw visibly clenched, while Trip kept shifting puzzled eyes from him to Malcolm.

â€œAnd heaven knows what other bugs we will find in the tactical systems,â€ MÃ¼ller went on, oblivious of his audience. â€œWhat I mean to say, Captain, is thatâ€¦ well, if you wouldnâ€™t mind it would be a good idea if Lieutenant Reed were to need at least another full day of rest, just so that we have a chance to get the place in at least a semblance of order.â€ 

â€œAh, I have a feeling it wonâ€™t be necessary, Ensign,â€ Archer replied, fixing apologetic eyes on Reedâ€™s rather furious ones.

â€œSir?â€ MÃ¼ller sounded baffled.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows, tilting his head in a silent request, and Archer nodded his assent.

â€œThis is Lieutenant Reed, Ensign. I expect you to give me a full report of the Armouryâ€™s status in one hour,â€ he said in quiet but military tones.

There was an audible gasp. â€œSirâ€¦â€ MÃ¼ller croaked out. Archer could hear the manâ€™s back straightening. â€œYes, Sir!â€

â€œJolly good,â€ Reed replied icily. 

Archer withdrew his hand from the comm. link and scratched his hair, smirking. â€œI was just about to tell you all about it, Malcolm. Honestly. Was looking for the right wordsâ€¦ And â€“ believe me â€“ MÃ¼ller has no fault in what happened. He carried out his duty admirably.â€ 

Trip grinned with gusto. â€œGuess you owe Malcolm an apology too, Captâ€™n,â€ he said, eyes dancing.

â€œI do,â€ Archer agreed with a sigh. â€œI hereby admit that perhaps youâ€™re not quite as paranoid as I sometimes like to make you out to be, Lieutenant,â€ he said with a sincere smile.

â€œThank you, Sir. That is reassuring to know,â€ Malcolm replied, finally relaxing into a faint smile that even reached his grey eyes. â€œAnd as far as apologies go, it appears we all have some to make this time.â€ 

â€œAre ya saying weâ€™re all square?â€ Trip asked Malcolm innocently.

Malcolm looked to be thinking about it. He smirked and pinned the Captain with his gaze. â€œIt depends. Just how serious is the damage to tactical systems?â€

 

Â§ 10 Â§

Hoshi peered into the serving cabinet, looking for ravioli. Chef always made ravioli on Thursdays, so where were they? She wasnâ€™t in the mood for salad, or chicken marsala, or meatloaf. Fish might be good, butâ€¦ ravioli was really what she felt like having. Nothing like a good dish of pastaâ€¦

â€œHave you lost something, Ensign?â€

Hoshi smiled at the unmistakable accent and straightened up to face Malcolm. â€œActually, something is missing.â€ Her eyes fell on Malcolmâ€™s tray. â€œThat,â€ she said, pointing to the dish of ravioli sitting on it.

â€œOhâ€¦â€ Malcolm said, tracking to what her finger was indicating. â€œIâ€™m afraid I took the last portion. But Iâ€™ll be more than happy to let you have it. Iâ€™ll get something else.â€

Hoshiâ€™s jaw fell in embarrassment. â€œOh, no,â€ she blurted out. â€œThatâ€™s not what I meant. I couldnâ€™t allow you to....â€

Malcolm chuckled. â€œPlease, Hoshi. Iâ€™m not going to wither and die if I donâ€™t eat ravioli today.â€

â€œRavioli, anyone?â€ a voice called from the other side of the serving cabinet, as more servings of pasta were placed inside it. 

â€œI guess we wonâ€™t need to fight over it.â€ Hoshi grinned happily, bent down and grabbed a plate. â€œThank you, Chef. Thursdays just arenâ€™t right without your ravioli.â€

â€œAh, Hoshi!â€ the voice exclaimed. â€œJust the person I wanted to see. Wait there, donâ€™t go away.â€

A moment later Chef appeared from the galleyâ€™s door. â€œOh, youâ€™re with Lieutenant Reed,â€ he said, making it sound as if he were a shady character, and eyeing the Armoury Officer in a funny way.

Hoshi cast Malcolm a questioning look and got a shrug in reply. â€œItâ€™s good to see youâ€™re feeling well again, Chef,â€ she said, deciding not to enquire. Indeed the man had recovered from his flu with unexpected speed: a mere couple of days and he was back on his feet and on his job. Phlox had beamed, explaining he had successfully tried out a new cure developed by the inter-species medical exchange programme. 

â€œSÃ¬, sÃ¬, grazie. But thatâ€™s not what I want to talk to you about.â€ Chef replied with a dismissive gesture of the hand. â€œI need to ask you something, Hoshi,â€ he added, mysteriously.

â€œMe?â€ Hoshi frowned, bringing a hand to her chest while she balanced the tray on the other. 

â€œYes, you.â€ Glancing challengingly in Reedâ€™s direction, Chef said, â€œSignor Reed here suggested I may be trying to have a fling with Commander Tucker.â€ 

Hoshi snorted loudly then quickly reined in her amusement at the sight of Chefâ€™s corrugated expression. 

â€œDoes that mean what I think it does?â€ Chef enquired, addressing Hoshi but keeping piercing eyes on Malcolm. 

â€œWell, I wouldnâ€™t know what you think it means,â€ Hoshi began, shifting her gaze to Reed, who was pursing his lips perhaps in the effort to keep a straight face. â€œBut what it does mean isâ€¦â€ she faltered.

â€œâ€¦That youâ€™d want to become romantically involved with him,â€ Malcolm finished, coming to her rescue. â€œBut I was only joking, Chef,â€ he added with a good-humoured chuckle.

Chef stared at him for a moment longer. â€œI am offended, Lieutenant,â€ he said irritably. â€œWhat an idea! Me and Commander Tucker! I mean, heâ€™s a nice person but --- the man likes resequenced meatloaf! Twisted the Captainâ€™s arm so I would include it in Enterpriseâ€™s menu! Such poor tasteâ€¦ We would end up arguing all the time.â€

Hoshi bit her lip and shot an awkward glance at Malcolm.

â€œYou instead, Signor Reed,â€ Chef added mellifluously, waving a hand at the ravioli on Malcolmâ€™s plate, â€œAre definitely more my typeâ€¦â€

Malcolm took a step back. â€œAhâ€¦ I just grabbed the first plate I saw,â€ he sputtered.

They all froze for a moment. 

â€œOnly joking, Lieutenant,â€ Chef finally admitted, with a chuckle. â€œIf I could choose someone on board to have a fling with, that would be Miss Hoshi.â€ He bowed, gentlemanly taking her hand and kissing it.

â€œIâ€™m flattered, Chef,â€ Hoshi said, wondering what exactly the smirk on Malcolmâ€™s face meant.

Reedâ€™s eyes narrowed. â€œWell, thatâ€™s a good thing,â€ he commented. â€œBecause if you wanted to have a fling with me youâ€™d have to wait in line: Trip already made me some advances on that planet,â€ he muttered. â€œTried to dance cheek to cheekâ€¦â€

Hoshi broke into giggles, hiding behind a hand.

â€œOh,â€ Chef moaned in despair. â€œThe drugged pie!â€

â€œYou werenâ€™t the only one who made mistakes that day,â€ Malcolm soothed him. â€œBesides, your knockout Asparagus Soup was very effective, putting those Naatians out of business before they could take apart the other two phase cannons.â€ He grinned. â€œI could kiss you for that --- uhm you know, metaphorically,â€ he hurried to add, taking half a step back. 

Chef gave them a gentle push towards an empty table. â€œAh, no more joking,â€ he said. â€œGo and have your meal. I need to get back to the galley.â€ With that he turned and hurried away.

Hoshi slid into her seat and spread her napkin over her legs. â€œDancing cheek to cheek?â€ she asked. â€œI would love to read your report.â€ Her eyes were twinkling with suppressed mirth. 

Malcolm glanced at her from across the table. â€œWell, you know thatâ€™s not possible, Ensign.â€ He paused. â€œBut I suppose there would be nothing wrong if I were to comment on Tripâ€™s musical tasteâ€¦â€ he added naughtily, his eyebrows darting up.

â€œNo, I suppose not,â€ Hoshi agreed nonchalantly. She liked Malcolm in this kind of mood. He was so different from the image of stiff propriety he generally liked to project. 

â€œPerhaps one of these evenings we couldâ€¦â€

â€œLieutenant, Ensign.â€ 

Hoshi cursed inwardly as she turned to face the man who had interrupted them with such bad timing. Crewman Kim of Malcolmâ€™s security team stood hesitantly a few feet away. 

â€œCrewman,â€ Malcolm acknowledged him, fork in mid air. â€œIs there something I can do for you?â€

â€œActually, Sir, itâ€™s Ensign Sato I came looking for,â€ the man said. 

Hoshi looked at him in surprise. â€œOhâ€¦â€ She gave Kim an encouraging smile. 

Kim rubbed his neck nervously. â€œI hope it is â€“ uhm â€“ ok to ask, butâ€¦ what does â€˜Kreuz, Birnbaum und Hollerâ€¦ Hollerâ€¦ somethingâ€™ mean?â€ he finally found the courage to enquire.

Hoshiâ€™s mouth fell open. â€œWhat?â€ she blurted out, making Kim pale. â€œWhere have you heard that?â€ 

The young man frowned, eying her worriedly. â€œWhy?â€ 

â€œBecause I havenâ€™t got a clue to what it might mean, Ensign. Although it sounds like German â€“ some kind of dialect I think â€“ Iâ€™d say itâ€™s an expression of surprise.â€

Malcolm speared a ravioli, grinning. He shook his head. â€œI have a feeling I might know who said it and when,â€ he commented. 

Kimâ€™s mouth suddenly curved up too, as he exchanged a knowing glance with his CO. 

â€œI believe the dialect is Bavarian, just like Ensign MÃ¼ller,â€ Malcolm said, raising his eyebrows eloquently. â€œPerhaps you ought to take a few lessons from him, Hoshi,â€ he teased. â€œYou canâ€™t be proficient in all sorts of Vulcan and Klingon dialects and ignore an Earth idiom, after all.â€ 

Hoshi eyed Malcolm, who was still grinning. She smirked mischievously. â€œPerhaps, instead of taking lessons, I should try and have a fling with MÃ¼ller: I might learn some interesting expressions, besides Kreuz, Birnbaum und Holler-something. Heâ€™s a good-looking man, and we are both Ensignsâ€¦ wouldnâ€™t even break the rulesâ€¦â€

Malcolmâ€™s face fell instantly. 

â€œIâ€™d really be curious to know what it means,â€ Kim muttered to himself. 

â€œIâ€™d say itâ€™s the equivalent of â€˜bloody hellâ€™,â€ a deep voice said. MÃ¼ller took a couple of steps forward and came to stand next to Kim. 

â€œOh,â€ Hoshi bit her lip and blushed, wondering how long MÃ¼ller had been within hearing range; then scowled at Malcolm, who looked wholly entertained. 

Kim cleared his throat. â€œTime to get back to work,â€ he said awkwardly. â€œLieutenant, Ensigns.â€ He nodded and left, quickly disappearing through the door. 

â€œA very theatrical entrance, Bernhard.â€ Reed acknowledged his second with a tilt of his head. 

A faint but knowing smile crossed MÃ¼llerâ€™s face as he straightened his tall frame virtually to attention. He held out a padd. â€œSorry to interrupt you, Sir. But I thought you would like to have an update of our repair work.â€ 

Malcolm took the padd. and gave it his full attention for a few moments. â€œGood to see weâ€™ll finally have the port cannon back online,â€ he eventually said, raising his eyes. â€œWell done.â€ 

â€œThank you, Sir.â€

â€œHowever, Ensign,â€ Malcolm added, changing to his Lieutenant tone, â€œI must tell you that I do not approve of your use of swearwords on duty,â€ he said gravely.

MÃ¼ller swallowed. â€œI apologise, Sir. Iâ€¦â€

â€œIâ€™m not finished,â€ Reed interrupted him brusquely. There was a moment of tense silence. MÃ¼ller stood so still that Hoshi found herself studying him closely for any signs of breathing. She felt bad for the man. Malcolm could be inflexible, when he wanted.

Reed narrowed his eyes. â€œThe next time you feel the urge to utter profanities,â€ he said coldly, â€œI recommendâ€¦ you use some we can all understand, dammit.â€ 

Hoshi giggled softly. MÃ¼llerâ€™s green eyes were crossed by a glint of humour. â€œAye, Sir,â€ he replied, baring teeth that could compete with Travisâ€™s. 

Waving his fork at the ravioli remaining on his plate, Malcolm said, â€œGive me another ten minutes and Iâ€™ll join you in the Armoury to run a check on that cannon.â€ 

â€œAye, Sir.â€ Reedâ€™s SIC made as if to leave, then stopped and added, turning serious again, â€œNot that I make a habit of using foul language, Lieutenant. I was simplyâ€¦â€

Reed held up a hand, stopping him. â€œBelieve me, Bernhard: whatever that German curse means, it would pale in comparison to what Iâ€™d have said in your place.â€ He shook his head as if to clear it from some terrible mental image. â€œMaybe itâ€™s better the Commander and I were delayed,â€ he said grimly. 

MÃ¼ller smirked; then nodded and left, and Hoshi turned to Malcolm. â€œI thought you were serious, giving him that dressing down,â€ she said, putting down her own fork.

Malcolm gave a breathy laugh. â€œWell, that was the whole point, wasnâ€™t it?â€ he said. His grey eyes were warm and deep today, and Hoshi was suddenly disappointed to see them shift away from her face to focus somewhere else. She turned to see what had caught his attention and saw Commander Tucker getting himself a drink at the dispenser. 

â€œWell, look whoâ€™s here,â€ Reed muttered under his breath. â€œOur resident minstrel.â€

Trip put his drink on a tray, grabbed a dish of something and headed towards them, a trademark Tucker grin plastered on his face. 

â€œMinstrel?â€ Hoshi asked, her lips curving upwards.

â€œAh, forget I ever said anything, Hoshi,â€ Malcolm hurried to say, seeing Trip approach.

â€œWhat are you two up to?â€ the Engineer asked, sliding into a seat near him. â€œIâ€™m pretty sure I just saw MÃ¼ller walk away from this table chucklinâ€™.â€

â€œI was telling him about our mission,â€ Malcolm teased.

Trip shot him a challenging look. â€œHey, only Tâ€™Pol and the Captâ€™n have a right to know all the details about it,â€ he said in mock outrage. â€œBesides, none of it was my fault, I was drugged.â€

â€œIt wasnâ€™t really Chefâ€™s fault,â€ Hoshi said, feeling she had to take Chefâ€™s defence. â€œHe was coming down with the flu.â€ 

â€œWell, it certainly wasnâ€™t my fault,â€ Malcolm butted in.

â€œWhatâ€™s the crime anyway?â€ Hoshi asked innocently.

Trip raised his eyebrows. â€œAh, no, Hosh, darlinâ€™. Sorry, but â€“ as I said â€“ only the Captâ€™n and Tâ€™Polâ€¦â€

â€œWhat about your little misadventure,â€ Malcolm enquired, turning to the young linguist. â€œWhose fault was it?â€

â€œWell, it wasnâ€™t the Captainâ€™s,â€ Hoshi answered straightaway. â€œMaybe it was my fault. I should have picked up the Naatiansâ€™ â€˜languageâ€™ faster,â€ she said grimly.

â€œOh, come on, Hoshi,â€ Malcolm comforted her. â€œFrom what I read of the Captainâ€™s report you were doing fine until Chefâ€™s Ominous Omelettes were brought in.â€

Hoshiâ€™s brow knitted in thought. â€œChef couldnâ€™t know the Naatians felt threatened by the colour yellow.â€

They all looked at each other in silence for a moment then burst out together, â€œTâ€™Pol?â€ 

The thought that Tâ€™Pol could be at fault was so absurd that Hoshi broke into laughter, triggering a couple of snorts from her companions. 

â€œBut no, no,â€ she hurried to add, shaking her head as she regained her composure. â€œIt wasnâ€™t her fault the matrix translated â€˜yellâ€™ for â€˜yellowâ€™.â€

Trip sighed. â€œLook, letâ€™s forget about it and move on, ok? It was nobodyâ€™s fault, just one of those days, I guess.â€

â€œWell, I hope we donâ€™t have too many,â€ Malcolm muttered.

Just then Chef appeared at the door of the galley, a plate high in the air, and Malcolm shot Trip a wide-eyed look. â€œGood grief, Trip. This is getting to be ridiculous! You didnâ€™t ask for more pie, did you?â€

Trip turned in alarm to see Chef approach their table. â€œNope. But I hope this time Chef made it right,â€ he murmured.

â€œDonâ€™t tell me,â€ Malcolm ground out.

Chef floated towards their table with the elegance of a dancer, and lowered the plate in front of Reed. On it sat a big slice of pineapple cake. 

Just what Malcolm likes, Hoshi thought, noticing the Armoury Officerâ€™s discomfort at the sudden attention.

â€œUhm, thank you, Chef,â€ Reed mumbled self-consciously. 

â€œGood. At least now ya wonâ€™t say Iâ€™m Chefâ€™s favourite any more,â€ Trip drawled.

Chef nodded firmly. â€œExactly.â€ 

Malcolm smiled tautly and studied the cake closely, prodding it with his fork. â€œYou did put your Thalassian sweet root jar well away from your sugar one after the other day, didnâ€™t you?â€ he asked meaningfully.

â€œOf course, Lieutenant,â€ Chef huffed, rolling his eyes. â€œThis is the real thing. Go ahead, taste it.â€

Malcolm put a tentative forkful in his mouth. â€œUh, delicious,â€ he mumbled around it.

â€œDonâ€™t worry,â€ Chef beamed, â€œI told Manetti to get rid of the other pineapple cake.â€ He elbowed Trip. â€œYou know, I still had a big piece left from when I made those ration packs.â€ 

Malcolm and Trip exchanged a bewildered look.

â€œYa mean to tell me that the pineapple cake we had on board that dayâ€¦â€ Trip left the rest of the question unspoken. His brain was too busy figuring out what might have happened if Malcolm had actually accepted the cake he had offered him. â€œGod!â€

Malcolm shuddered. â€œBe grateful Iâ€™m not like you, Trip: needing to wallow in sugar.â€ He shoved, nonetheless, another forkful of cake in his mouth. 

â€œMay I join the party?â€ a voice asked. â€œAs you were,â€ Archer hurried to add, approaching the group. Chef looked a bit flustered, so Archer put a hand on his shoulder. â€œGlad youâ€™re back, Chef,â€ he said, squeezing gently. â€œNothing personal, but Manetti always manages to overcook his pasta.â€ 

Chef relaxed into a smile. â€œThe kid is not really Italian,â€ he said with a shrug. â€œBorn out of the old country.â€

Archer chuckled. â€œSo, what are you celebrating?â€ 

â€œI made pineapple cake and brought the Lieutenant a slice,â€ Chef said. â€œBut now, since youâ€™re all here, Iâ€™ll bring out the rest,â€ he said, making for the galley. 

â€œGood idea,â€ Malcolm called after him, smiling warmly as he put the last forkful of cake in his mouth.

â€œToo bad ya didnâ€™t let us stay around till the weather cleared, Captâ€™n,â€ Trip complained. â€œWho knows now when weâ€™ll get another chance to get some platinum.â€

â€œIt would have delayed our mission for too long, Trip,â€ Archer said apologetically. â€œTâ€™Pol claims the storms will last for at least another week.â€

Trip smirked. â€œYeah. Stillâ€¦â€

â€œI told Tâ€™Pol to be on the look-out for some other planet rich in the ore,â€ Archer said. â€œWeâ€™ll come across one, sooner or later.â€

Hoshi patted Tripâ€™s shoulder. â€œDonâ€™t worry, Commander,â€ she said. â€œOur little ship is sturdy. I doubt youâ€™ll need to get spare parts any time soon.â€ 

â€œRight you are, Hoshi,â€ Malcolm butted in cheerfully. He got up from his seat, chuckling. â€œWhereâ€™s the rest of that cake, Chef?â€ he shouted in the direction of the galley. 

â€œMalcolm?â€ Trip said, pulling his sleeve. He exchanged a look with the others.

Malcolm turned to Trip, falling back heavily on his chair. â€œBesides, Commander,â€ he slurred â€“ slurred? 

â€œChe seraaaaa seraaaa, whatever will beeee will beeeeâ€¦ the futureâ€™s not ours to seeeee â€¦â€ 

â€œManetti!â€ An angry voice floated out of the galley. â€œWhich cake did you get rid of?â€


End file.
